The Foster Feud
by am4ever
Summary: Secrets...misunderstanding...hurt...pain... What happens when all of these combine at the most inopportune time?
1. Chapter 1

"Something you need, Mr. Callen," Hetty asked, having just sat at her desk when the lead agent hurried up to meet her.

"What is the status on Amanda Carrell's protective custody?" he asked. "She's in the boat shed now but I want to get her moved before dark. She's had to deal with far more today than any 10 year old should ever have to see."

"I quite agree," Hetty replied, nodding as she picked up a file from her desk to quickly scan its contents.

"Well?" Callen asked after a moment, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

Hetty looked up at him over the rim of her glasses, sensing his agitation. She set the file back on the desk and folded her hands in her lap.

"I'm afraid we will have to wait for Nell to finish the paperwork from Children and Youth Services. Once that…"

"You're putting her in the system?!" Callen shouted, causing the other agents across the mission to cease all conversation.

Hetty stalled a moment, taking the time to check her rising emotions before answering calmly. "It is the best place for her right now. And to make sure…"

"It is the worst place, Hetty!" Callen interrupted, slamming both hands on the desk. "You of all people should know that!"

"Mr. Callen…" Hetty began slowly, one hand rising to try and calm her lead agent down…but it was to no avail.

"Kids get lost in the system! Or is that what you want? Lose Amanda so she isn't a problem any longer? Give her to Children and Youth since her admiral father and mother are dead? Just an easy way to get NCIS out of the picture by putting one more orphan, something we don't ' _normally deal with_ ,' in the hands of the foster care system."

"I suggest you withhold any further comments before you say something you'll regret," Hetty replied lowly. Her hands moved to grip the arms of her chair, knowing she had better keep herself in check when all she wanted to do was scold the grown man in front of her as she would a little toddler.

"Regret?" Callen pushed away from the desk, his hands crossing in exasperation. "You're one to talk about regret!"

"I understand that you are..." Hetty began, but there was not stopping this tirade.

"You think she'll be protected in a foster home? Just like you protected me from the Comescu's by shuffling me from home to home, Hetty? How about the emotional…verbal…the physical abuse? That didn't come from any Comescu…that came from the system! Regret that, Hetty?"

Whipping around, he glared at the small woman who remained eerily silent behind the desk.

"Well?!"

She didn't answer…she knew she couldn't….for any response she gave right now would set him off. He was too angry and nothing other than time could cool him off.

"Come on, Hetty! You know you are throwing Amanda in to a horrendous situation!"

The shouting was only gaining in volume and the whole mission could now hear, word for word, Agent Callen's defamation of their Operation Manager's plan. And as Assistant Director Owen Granger came out of his office, finding all activity stopped and Henrietta Lange's lead agent vocally belittling the woman in front of the whole office, he knew something had to be done.

"Mr. Callen, if you would let me finish…" Hetty tried to begin after Callen finally let her get a word in.

"You know," Callen interrupted with a scoff, "it's a good thing you never had any of your own children, Hetty. Because if you treated them like the pawns you think we all are, they'd be six feet under by now."

Grisha Callen had seen many things in his lifetime but never had he seen Henrietta Lange grow as pale as she did in that moment. He knew he should not have gone so far, shouldn't have said what he did, but he couldn't help himself when he was this angry. And now…now he couldn't take it back, though the look of absolute shock and hurt crossing Hetty's face made him want to desperately.

"Agent Callen! My office…now!"

Callen spun around, face to face with a stone cold Owen Granger. His partner, Sam Hanna, was only a few steps behind, a look of confusion on his face as he stared down the lead agent.

"I have…"

"I said now!" Granger shouted, turning and marching down the hall to his office.

Callen had no other choice but to follow. He passed by Sam, stopping briefly at his partner's shoulder.

"Too far, G. You went too far," Sam whispered.

Callen shook his head, saying nothing as he followed Granger down the long corridor.

Sam looked back, seeing the anger on Granger's face and knew his partner was in for a long lecture. Sighing, he turned back to Hetty, looking extremely pale and defeated, her handshaking as reached for the phone.

"Miss Jones….my office."

Sam moved forward as Hetty set down the phone.

"Hetty, are you…?"

"Agent Hanna. Please go to the boatshed and pack up Miss Carrell's things. She will be going to her new foster home with parents, Mr. and Mrs. Waring. You will transport her to the foster agency first where there will be some paperwork to sign and she will meet the Warings. Then, you will follow them to their home to make sure Amanda is properly settled. Eric has sent the agency's address to your phone."

"Waring?" Sam asked, thinking a moment due to the familiarity of the name. "Waring…that…"

It clicked. The case where they had to smoke out a Russian sleeper agent a few years back….Kensi and Deeks had gone undercover as a married couple in a well-to-do neighborhood. And barring their endless debates over who did the laundry correctly or who could cook better, they had done a fine job of pulling off being happily married.

"...Is the alias Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye will be using while they care for Miss Carrell," Hetty answered. "Miss Carrell will still be considered a part of the true foster care system of California, to be protected by the state and federal governments as any other orphaned child would be in this situation. But, I do not wish to throw her to the wolves. This is still our case, and we still have an obligation to bring in the terrorists who murdered her parents. To that end, Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye will go undercover as her foster parents, to make sure we are doing everything we can to protect Miss Carrell until we can bring these men to justice."

"Hiding in plain sight with two undercover agents. Not bad at all, Hetty," Sam answered genuinely, smiling warmly at her.

"Here," she said, handing him a file across the desk, "this, along with what Nell is bringing down, should be all you will need. Gather Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye and then when Miss Carrell is ready, you can be on your way."

"Sure," Sam said, turning to find the technical analyst walking down the stairs towards Hetty's office.

Nell hurried forward, seeing Sam standing with the file in hand. "Sorry, took a little while to print this out. Everything is ready to go," she said, taking the last few steps up in to Hetty's office.

"Thanks," Sam replied, sticking the paperwork in to the folder. "Hetty…about Callen…"

"Time is of the essence, Agent Hanna," Hetty answered tiredly, her hand coming to rub across her now pounding forehead.

"Right."

He cast a look of concern to Nell, nodding his head towards Hetty, hoping the younger woman might understand and check in on their boss. Nell, still a bit confused, nodded to Sam and took a tentative step towards Hetty's desk as Sam left the office.

"Hetty…is there anything else I can do?"

"Thank you for getting everything together so quickly, Nell," Hetty answered, her hand dropping from her forehead to gather another file from the end of her desk. "Please see that the Assistant Director gets this tonight."

"Sure," Nell answered, taking the large file. "Are you…?"

"I have an appointment this afternoon outside the city. I won't be back in town until Monday morning. If anything urgent comes up, the Assistant Director is first call."

"Right," Nell responded, wondering why this was the first she was hearing of Hetty's trip. "Is there…?"

"My phone may be off due to some bad reception in this little town," Hetty interrupted, placing both hands on her desk to stand, "but I will try to check in."

Now Nell was worried. Hetty looked absolutely defeated…what had happened since she last saw the Operations Manager an hour ago? They were celebrating finding Amanda alive…and now…?

"Um…should I let anyone know you'll be gone?" Nell asked, not sure what else to say.

"The Assistant Director will know where I am. Need to know appointment, I'm afraid. But he will have a way to reach me if something comes up," Hetty explained, taking her purse from the bottom drawer and locking it.

As she came around the corner of her desk, the enormity of what Callen had said hit her again. Stumbling, she quickly grasped the edge of the desk for support. Nell hurried forward, taking Hetty by the arm.

"Hetty?"

Hetty shook her head and took a deep breath, swallowing her welling emotions.

"Fine, Miss Jones. Just a headache. Now…" she answered quietly, looking up and forcing a smile for the worried technical analyst, "…I leave OPS in your capable hands."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all SO MUCH for the kind reviews! A lot to unravel in this story so here we go with the next chapter- again, many thanks!

* * *

It took almost three hours, but he finally found her just before the sun set that evening.

"You turned your phone off," he said quietly, coming to sit beside her on a cold, stone bench.

"I know," she replied, seemingly not surprised to see him.

"Appointment go as planned?" he asked, turning slightly to face her.

"I suppose," she answered softly, her hands clasping together in her lap.

They were silent for a few moments as she continued to stare out in to the distance. He wasn't sure what to say...how to help...but he knew that he needed to do something for her and that he would not dare leave her alone.

"Sam and Nell….they're worried about you," he said slowly, watching her features for any show of emotion. But she showed no indication that she was still upset over her earlier conversation with Agent Callen.

"I'm not sure that is true, Owen," she responded.

He knew there was a reason she would not look him in the eye...it was one of her characteristic traits when trying to distance herself. She never wanted anyone's help, least of all his after all these years. But he could guarantee she needed it this time...why it was nagging at him, he wasn't sure. But something in the way she looked after Callen yelled at her that afternoon concerned the Assistant Director. And he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Were you followed?" she asked quietly, looking down and placing her hands on the bench, grasping it tight.

"No, but Callen put a tracer on my car before he left the mission. I switched vehicles before I came to find you. He seems to think I know where you went today and wouldn't tell him."

"But you didn't know," she said, looking at him for the first time.

"I know you had an appointment but no, I assure you I did not know the location. I was about to give up looking for you when I remembered you once told me about this out of the way park you'd found where you could be alone to think. Last time I found you here was after Hunter's funeral, remember?" he asked.

She nodded, her eyes cast downward so as not to meet his.

"He is sorry, you know," Owen added, looking towards the sunset.

"I know," she replied, her voice hardly even a whisper.

"But that is not all that is bothering you," he more stated than asked, looking back at her.

She remained silent for a moment, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench tighter. It wasn't until Owen's hand covered hers that she looked up to meet his concerned eyes.

"Henrietta...please tell me what is going on."

She sighed, pulling her hand out from under his and pushing herself up to stand.

"It's nothing, Owen," she said, starting to walk towards the small parking lot.

He quickly stood and taking only three steps, blocked her from moving any further.

"I can see it's more than this case...more than Callen's insubordinate attitude..."

She looked down, tears springing to her eyes quickly. She began blinking earnestly, trying to fight them so Owen would not see her weakness.

"What is going on that you aren't telling me...that you aren't telling anyone for that matter? And while I know you can handle much more than possibly any human being on this planet...I think you need to read me in on this."

She tried to move around him but he caught her arms and stared down at her.

"Henrietta, look at me...please."

It took all of her willpower to oblige, but she did. And when she looked up she found that he wasn't angry or overbearing...he seemed genuinely concerned.

"Let me in, Hetty. Let me help," he said softly.

She shook her head.

"There's nothing for you to do, Owen. But I appreciate your want to help...I do," she answered sincerely.

"You're lying," he said bluntly, squeezing her arms gently. "And while I won't press you now, I will not let this go, Henrietta."

She sighed. "Owen..."

"Come on. I'll drive you home," he said, beginning to lead her towards the parking lot.

"I have my own car," she pointed out.

"And it will be safe here for the night. We can pick it up tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow. Because," he began, stopping them both and turning to face her, "you are coming with me tonight. That's an order."

Her eyes widened behind her glasses and a small smirk graced her lips. "You're joking."

He rolled his eyes. "Do I sound like I'm joking, Henrietta?"

"No," she answered quietly as he led her towards the SUV.

He opened the passenger door and held her arm as she tiredly stepped up in to the vehicle. But before he shut the door, he took a few seconds to glance over her appearance. She looked completely exhausted, worn out more so than he had ever remembered her being before.

"Henrietta?"

"Hm?" She looked over at him after securing her seat belt.

Now was not the time...he knew that. He would wait...wait until she was ready to talk to him.

"Nothing. Let's get you out of here," he answered with a small smile, shutting the door.

She sighed deeply and allowed her head to fall back against the seat. Her eyes closed as the stress of the day began to overwhelm her. It was going to be a long night, she feared...a very long night.

She didn't even realize that he had taken the time to pull her overnight bag from the trunk of her car, nor that he had locked up the Jag and placed her bag in the back of the SUV. He climbed in to the driver's seat beside her and smiled, seeing her eyes closed. For once, she was resting. And while he needed more information from her, he merely wanted her to sleep tonight. For a good night's rest was the first step towards getting her back to the old Henrietta Lange he knew so very well.


	3. Chapter 3

**I must thank you all AGAIN for such gracious reviews. And to say thank you for helping me create this story. It is definitely a work in progress so I love your thoughts, questions and ideas. They are motivating me forward and helping me shape the story line in a way even I was not sure of! Thank you!

Now on to Chapter 3!

* * *

Pulling up outside his house, he already knew he was in for a conversation he did not want to have. Sighing, he grabbed his things from the backseat and headed for the front door. As he passed the Challenger, he shoved his house keys back in his pocket. He wouldn't need them...front door was already unlocked.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Sam," he said, walking in the door and throwing his bag down on the floor.

His partner stood, arms crossed, leaning against the living room wall. Sam merely shook his head and chuckled.

"I didn't say a word, G," Sam replied.

Callen shut the door and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it down on to the bag. Turning, his put his hands on his hips and looked down.

"I know why you're here. You're here to tell me I shouldn't have jumped all over Hetty about Amanda Carrell's placement. Don't worry…Granger already did that."

Sam's lips turned upward in a grin. "I know. I wasn't here to go over it again. I was just here to see if you were ok and to take you out for a burger. But when I got here, you were still gone...even though Nell and Eric confirmed you left the mission before five."

Callen shrugged, picking up his things and heading for his bedroom. Sam stood straight and quickly followed his partner.

"So, I thought, seeing as how I didn't get back until after seven, that you would definitely be home. But it's now ten o'clock and you're just getting in."

"So?" Callen grunted, throwing his things in the closet and pulling a laptop off his desk.

"Wanna tell me where you've been since you left the mission?"

"Out."

Sam stepped forward and took the laptop out of Callen's hands, forcing his partner to turn and glare at him.

"Sam…" Callen warned, not in the mood for this tonight.

"G…I'm not going to pry in to every aspect of your life. But after this afternoon, I just need to know you're going to be ok."

Callen stepped back, his face softening slightly. "I'm fine, Sam. Really…I just needed to cool off."

Sam nodded, leaving a moment of silence in case his partner would elaborate. But, as always, Callen was a man of few words.

"Ok," Sam said, handing the laptop back to Callen, "that's all I needed to know."

"Thanks," Callen replied, taking the laptop and sitting on the bed with a sigh. "Sorry I didn't answer your calls."

"It's ok, G. Like I said, I'm not going to nag," Sam answered. "You wanna go grab something?"

"I'm beat…think I'll stay here," Callen answered. "But…thanks….really."

"Sure…don't forget the party tomorrow," Sam said, taking a few steps towards the door. "Michelle said you have to be there by two."

"Two?" Callen asked. "I thought the party didn't start until four."

"Yes…but Uncle Callen gets to help set up the dunk tank," Sam answered with a grin.

"A dunk tank? And who is going to be in that dunk tank once its set up?"

Sam stopped in the middle of the doorway and pointed to Callen. "I told you to bring a swimsuit, right?"

"Sam…"

"Two o'clock, G!"

"Sam!"

It was too late…the front door had already shut. Callen shook his head, laughing lightly at the thought of his being in a dunk tank for a pre-teen girl's birthday party.

 _Only for Kamran_ , he thought, opening the laptop and turning it on.

He waited a moment and then began clicking through the GPS tracking application, trying to see the exact coordinates of Granger's car. Cursing under his breath, he slammed down the lid of the laptop. Car was still parked at Granger's house…hadn't moved for the last four hours.

He laid back on the bed, hands behind his head. She hadn't been at any of her houses, and Granger's car hadn't gone out….hadn't gone to pick her up or to find her.

Callen had looked every place he could think of…even on her yacht at the marina. But nothing. Nell knew nothing, Eric knew nothing….Sam obviously knew nothing or he would have said something. Kensi and Deeks were on assignment, so it was clear they wouldn't know where she was.

Slamming his hands down in frustration, he got up and tried texting Nell again, hoping she had heard something.

 _Where are you, Hetty?_

* * *

Pulling in to his driveway over an hour later, Owen looked over to find Hetty staring out the window. She had been quiet, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. She was contemplating...contemplating her next move. He had known her too long and knew how she worked. She always tried to distance herself when she was planning her next rendezvous or mission...but he had intercepted. And so he would be forced to wait until she was ready to give up information before he found out what was going through that small, yet extremely powerful, head of hers.

"Let me do a quick sweep...make sure Callen didn't try to pull any fast ones on me," he said quietly.

She nodded as he got out of the SUV, looking across the yard to search for anything out of the ordinary. She saw that Granger had parked his car in the garage, wondering whether or not he had left the tracer on so Callen would think he was home for the evening.

A few moments later, her door opened.

"Looks good," Granger said.

She took off her seat belt and graciously accepted the hand he offered her. Stepping out of the SUV, she bowed her head to hide the grimace that accompanied the small jaunt. Owen shut the door and after getting her bag from the back seat, he led her to the front door of his comfortably sized home. She followed slowly, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for anything suspicious.

"Come on in," he said, turning on the hall light and holding the door open for her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling softly and walking in to living room.

"You hungry?" he asked, setting her bag by the stair case and coming to stand beside her.

"No...no..." she replied, looking around the room, "Your home is very nice, Owen."

"Now I know you're lying," he answered with a grin. "This is one step above Callen and you know it. But at least I have furniture."

She smirked. "Indeed."

"Drink?" he offered, walking over to the small bar by the fireplace.

"I don't think I'd better..."she answered holding up a hand. "If you don't mind, I think I'd rather retire for the evening."

He poured two glasses of scotch and nodded, trying to keep the worry out of his tone when he responded. "Here...take this just in case."

He handed her one of the glasses before walking over to pick up her bag. "Room's on the next floor. Ok with you?"

"I'm not so old that I cannot do stairs, Owen," she chided, motioning for him to start up the stair case.

"Just checking," he responded, chuckling under his breath as he heard her small huff behind him.

He led her to the second bedroom, directly across from his. Opening the door, she was surprised to see that it was decorated nicely, with warm colors and a very cozy-looking queen sized bed covered in a lovely quilt.

Seeing her surprise, he set her bag on the bed and turned to face her. "I redid this room for Jennifer...she stays over on occasion."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Owen," Hetty replied with a genuine smile. "I'm sure she appreciates it. And you've done a fine job with redecorating."

"Yea...well...I let her pick out everything so you can thank her for the decor. I just provided the cash and the labor."

Hetty chuckled and sat down on the window seat, setting her scotch on the end table by the bed. Seeing how exhausted she was, he figured he should leave her to rest for the evening and they could talk more in the morning.

"Bathroom is right through that door," he said, pointing to the door on the other side of the bed. "It should have everything you need but if not, I'm right across the hall. If there is anything..."

Hetty held up a hand. "I will be just fine, Owen."

"Right...well...then I'll say goodnight," he said walking to the door.

"Owen..." she called.

"Yea?" he asked, turning back.

"Thank you..." she said softly, trying desperately to keep her emotions in check.

"Good night Henrietta," he responded, a sincere smile crossing his face.

"Good night, Owen."


	4. Chapter 4

*Disclaimer: I should have put this in previously, but I obviously own NONE of the characters in NCIS LA. They all belong to Shane Brennan and the glorious writers of the show!

*To note: I am setting this story post Season 7 but pre Season 8. So references to some of the major characters story lines may not exactly match up with the current season playing on TV.

*And thank you, thank you for your reviews! I know you are all wanting to know what is going on with Hetty! I promise that it will come to light...but I want to make sure I do the story line justice! I appreciate your sticking with me through this Foster Feud!

* * *

"Kens?"

Kensi lifted her head from against the headboard and smiled at Deeks. He quietly shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed, looking over at the small form lying beside Kensi.

"She asleep?"

"Finally," Kensi whispered as Deeks climbed up on the bed beside her. She continued to softly run her fingers through the young girl's hair. It had taken a great deal of time and effort to calm Amanda down. But, Kensi couldn't blame the nervous agitation the ten year old had. The horrible images of the murder scene were enough to set she as a seasoned agent on edge. It could only be worse for Amanda.

"Nightmares?"

"And memories," Kensi said softly. "We'll have to take it slowly with her. But, I think distraction will be helpful…if we can get her to trust us."

"Well, I think I have a few ideas of how we can do that," Deeks said, handing Kensi a mug of coffee from the end table and then settling back beside her.

"Such as?"

"Well, I thought once she is up for it, I can take her down to the beach. Go swimming…teach her how to surf…"

Kensi nodded. "Ok…and if the weather is bad?"

"Well, there is the Monty-meister."

Kensi lifted an eyebrow. "We're bringing Monty here?"

"You have something against Monty?" Deeks asked in shock.

"Of course I don't," Kensi said quickly. "But, it's just, he's never been with us when we're undercover before."

"Pet therapy is a very real thing, Kensalina, and I'll have you know that Hetty made Monty a decorated agent. Therefore, I think he should be in on the assignment," Deeks stated proudly.

"I understand, and I'm not saying Monty would not be a perfect distraction," Kensi said with a grin, choosing her words carefully. "I'm just saying we have to be careful that Amanda doesn't get too attached to something now that her parents are gone and then we just take it away once the mission is over."

"Oh…yea…."

Deeks looked forward and thought for a minute. Maybe Kensi was right. He'd have to run this one by Hetty…maybe a different pet would be good for Amanda…one she could keep. Though…no pet could compare to Monty.

"So what other distractions did you have in mind?" Kensi asked, taking a sip of her coffee and leaning against his shoulder.

"Shopping."

"Shopping? You hate to shop."

"I do not hate to shop!"

"Shh!" Kensi warned, slapping him lightly on the arm as Amanda curled in closer to Kensi's legs.

The two adults stalled for a moment, waiting to make sure the young girl did not wake up again. When it looked as though she was still sound asleep, Deeks let out a breath.

"I do not hate to shop," he whispered again. "I just hate to shop for certain things."

"Well then…what type of shopping did you have in mind?"

"Oh you know…you girls can go look for purses and shoes because believe me….I don't do those. I, however, would be the best person to take her shopping for movies and clothes."

"Clothes?" Kensi asked with a chuckle. "What makes you better to take her shopping for clothes than me?"

"I mean…don't get me wrong, babe…but you and pink flowered skirts don't naturally mix. At least, not without Hetty making you wear it for your next assignment."

"So?"

"So…young girls wear flowery, pinky, girly things….and that's not you."

Kensi scoffed. "And what makes you think I didn't ever wear 'girly' things?"

"Your Mom told me," Deeks said with a grin.

"What?!"

"Shh!"

This time, it was Deeks' warning that quieted the two adults as Amanda twisted in her sleep again, her hand coming to rest on top of Deeks' leg. Kensi smirked.

"Guess you're not moving."

"Guess not," he whispered back.

"And I did too wear girly things! I have a first confirmation picture to prove it."

"Really? I'd love to see that. Maybe we could put it in the NCIS monthly newsletter," he replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "I bet you looked angelic…all those white flowers in your hair, the long white dress, the white stockings…."

Kensi's lips pressed together. "Ok…it wasn't all white but it was girly."

"You wore camo pants, didn't you?" he asked, his signature smirk crossing his face.

"Deeks!"

"Come on, admit it. Camo pants for confirmation!"

"You are hopeless," she said with a sigh, reaching over and setting her coffee cup on the end table. She turned out the light, pulling up the blanket over Amanda's back and her legs. Resting her head against the headboard, she hoped for at least a couple hours of sleep.

"Just one picture?"

"Deeks, go to sleep!"

"Just one?"

"Deeks…."

"Ok, we'll discuss it in the morning. Or I'll call your Mom about it?"

"Deeks, shut up!"

Deeks grinned in the dark, reaching over to take her hand in his. Kissing the back of her fingers, he whispered, "Night, Kensalina."

It was silent for a moment before he heard…

"Goodnight….Martin."

"Ouch! Now _that_ was low!"

* * *

2:00 AM

Looking at the clock, he knew he would never get to sleep. Too many questions running through his mind, for one, and to top it all off, Henrietta Lange was sleeping across the hall. It's not as though they hadn't stayed in the same house before...hell, they'd even slept in the same bed more than once! But something about this felt different...probably the fact that this was not an undercover assignment they were working together. Or the fact that he sensed she needed his help, and he hadn't known Henrietta Lange to need help before...ever.

In fact, _he_ was the one who always needed protection from her. Laughing to himself at the thought, he rubbed a hand over his face and saw the scar she'd given him many years ago. They were undercover in Germany for over a month in the dead of winter. Her rule was he always had to sleep on top of the comforter with a separate blanket while she slept under the covers. She'd warned him not to break the rule….or else.

It wasn't his fault , he had argued, that when the temperature dropped that night he used every blanket possible to get warm...including hers. Turning his hand over, he smiled remembering just how fast she was with a knife. He hadn't even gotten his legs completely beneath her blanket that night before his right hand was sliced from thumb to pinky and her knife was at his throat. Granted, she had been fast asleep and may have thought he was an intruder, but still! She should have remembered he was in the room with her!

He groaned and sat up, turning his hand over once again and flexing his fingers. He wished he'd had more time to debrief about those missions...and to investigate what he'd learned about that tiny woman during their undercover ops. But, duty to their country always trumped personal gain. And she had always strayed away from talking about her personal life. Only a few times had he been allowed a peek at the softer side of Henrietta Lange. There was more underneath the harsh exterior she had formed during her years in undercover work. But, he was never able to break through…and now, he had a suspicious feeling he should have tried harder.

Shaking his head to rid himself of such disturbing memories, Owen stood and stretched. He decided a glass of water and some pain killers for his back might help him get a few hours of rest tonight. He opened the door to the hallway, only to find a dim light streaming out from underneath the bedroom across the hall.

Tentatively, he stepped forward and knocked lightly. "Henrietta...you awake?"

When he heard nothing, he stepped away. But at the end of the hall, he decided she might have fallen asleep with the light on. Knowing she would never rest properly that way, he moved back to her door and knocked again. Still no response.

He gently opened the door and took a peek around the edge, finding her wide awake.

"Henrietta?" he whispered, taking a few steps inside. "Everything ok?"

The way she was staring out the window, her body rigid and posture tense, had him worried. She turned her head slightly, acknowledging that he had come in the room.

"I'm fine, Owen. Did I wake you?" she asked, her eyes still focused on the far window.

"No...couldn't sleep. Seems like I'm not the only one," he said, shutting the door and turning back to face her. "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head but remained silent. He moved forward slowly, afraid of what she might do if he tried to intrude on her private moment. But his concern at how defeated she seemed kept him moving toward her.

"You're sure?" he asked, now standing at the end of the bed.

She nodded, her head now turning to look down at her hands lying on top of the large comforter. She seemed so vulnerable, wrapped tightly in a blue, satin robe with her fingers clasping and unclasping every few seconds.

"Hetty..."

Gently, he came to sit on the bed beside her, reaching over to lay his hand on top of hers, stopping her fingers from their fast cadence. He squeezed her small fists gently, noting how cold and clammy they felt beneath his warm palm.

"Tell me...please..."

She took a few breaths before she dared to look up at him. And when she did, she found he was looking at her with a genuine worry she had not known for quite a long time.

"It's nothing," she claimed quietly, pulling her hands out from under his. She crossed her arms tightly around her abdomen. "Just a bit of insomnia is all."

"I doubt that," he replied.

Seeing that she wasn't going to give up anything more, he decided to try a different maneuver.

"You know, I was just thinking about the time we were in Germany together. Searching for evidence on Mueller..."

She looked up, her eyebrows rising in slight confusion. "You were?"

"Yea," he said, turning his hand over to face palm up in her lap. "Scar is still there..."

He couldn't help but chuckle when a sly smile graced her lips. "You didn't follow the rules," she said, "And I did warn you."

"Oh, I know, I know. You've told me a hundred times it was my own fault."

"And it was," she reminded him again, allowing her arms to uncross. She reached forward and gently took his large hand in both of hers. "Perhaps I was a bit overzealous. It did go quite deep, didn't it?" she asked, inspecting the scar.

"Yes, it did. You had to sew up your own damage!"

"Well...then you should thank me for knowing how to thread a needle. Heaven knows you couldn't."

He sighed and took his hand out of hers. Rubbing his palms together, he tentatively pushed forward.

"No, I couldn't. Couldn't keep a secret as well as you either."

He saw the slight crease in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the edge of the comforter. She looked down, thinking of a way to get him off this subject.

"You are very good at keeping a secret or two of your own, Assistant Director," she replied, her voice terse, with a hint of warning in her tone.

He chuckled. "It still surprises me that you can down four scotches and not give up a word."

She smirked, knowing it only took one and a half for Owen to start giving up information she wanted from him.

"But now..." he began, growing serious, "Henrietta, I can easily see something is bothering you. History tells me you're either planning on going rogue again...or this is personal...something you don't want anyone at NCIS to know."

"Owen..."

"Your appointment today…was this about a case you're working solo?"

She kept her head down, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of reading her facial expression to determine if he was right or wrong. "No."

"Someone could have so easily trailed you. The only reason Callen was held up was because he was in my office. I'm surprised Nell hasn't already caught on to whatever plan you're hatching."

"Perhaps it's because I'm not hatching any plan," she answered, now looking up to glare at him.

"You do know that Callen will be here in the morning to ask where you are. He's been trying your phone since he left OPS...I'm guessing you haven't answered," Owen stated with a sigh.

"I will speak to Mr. Callen on Monday."

"Well when the hell are you going to speak to me?!" he shouted, standing with a huff. "I'm not blind, Henrietta! Tell me what is going on!"

Hetty's eyes darkened as she glared at him. "I told you before it is nothing, and I would ask that you leave it there, Assistant Director."

"Hetty, I'm not leaving until you tell me what this is all about," he ordered. "I'll call Vance and have you pulled out of your position if you insist on pulling the team in to another one of your crazy missions like you did with Kensi in Afghanistan!"

He should have stopped himself, should not have egged her on. For now, with the way her eyes had turned black and her lips were pursed together, he knew he was in trouble...deep trouble.

"Get out," she stated, glaring at him.

"Henrietta…" he began, only to be cut off.

"I said get…out," she repeated, her voice cracking with emotion, as she quickly looked away.


	5. Chapter 5

**My heart is deeply saddened by the passing of Miguel Ferrer. His mother, Rosemary Clooney, has always been one of my favorite jazz singers and the actress in my favorite Christmas movie, White Christmas. So when I learned Miguel was her son, I was intrigued to see if he had the same talent I loved in her...of course he did!

My thoughts and prayers go out to his wife, his sons, extended family and the whole cast and crew of NCIS LA. A true loss that cannot be replaced but a talent we were lucky to have known!****

* * *

He had never seen her in such a state. Not even after their deadliest operations. Not even after losing some of her lead agents. Her head turned to the side, a shaky hand covering her eyes and her chest rising and falling faster than Owen felt comfortable with.

He was brought out of his reverie by her low voice. "Go away, Owen."

"No chance," he replied firmly, crossing his arms as she allowed her hand to fall from her eyes with a huff. She met his intense gaze and shook her head, frowning.

"Owen, we have nothing more to discuss. So you might as well..." she began, only to be cut off by his hand reaching down and grasping her arm.

"Henrietta, I'm sorry I lost my temper…but you and I both know there is something more going on here. So either you tell me what it is now or I'm heading down for the scotch. I can guarantee we'll both need it sooner or later."

Against her better judgment, she agreed with him, knowing he would never leave without getting an answer from her.

"Best get the good stuff then," she replied solemnly.

He let go of her arm and nodded. "I won't be long."

"I'd rather you were," she answered tersely.

"But I won't be. And you'd better be right there when I get back," he replied bluntly, heading out the door.

Pressing her lips together, she sighed in frustration, trying to come up with a plan. She hated that he knew her so well…for her first thought had been to try and find a way out. But without knowing the layout of the house, she would never be able to sneak away without his knowing.

Instead, she tried to move to the edge of the bed, hoping that she could give him a quick story and put them both out of their misery for the evening.

But the incessant, aching pain in her neck and eyes only intensified. Cursing under her breath, she steadied herself against the headboard, taking a few deep breaths to quell the nausea that was rising. Scotch was probably not what she needed….but if it would get Owen out of her way, she would endure one or two glasses.

"Henrietta?"

She cautiously opened her eyes and looked up. Owen, confused, set two tumblers on the nightstand, along with a large bottle of scotch.

"I almost thought you had fallen asleep sitting up," he said, pouring a healthy dose of the amber liquid in to each tumbler.

"If only…" she quipped, begrudgingly taking the drink he offered.

He sat on the end of the bed, downing half his drink before attempting to question her further. He noticed quickly she wasn't drinking, merely moving her fingers around the rim of the glass. It was very unlike Henrietta Lange not to drink at least a sip of the whiskey when she was stressed. His eyes creased slightly as he observed her movements, trying to take in every fine detail as he would in an interrogation.

"Henrietta, at least tell me if I'm right in thinking you do not want anyone at NCIS to find out about this."

She nodded, though kept silent. Her head began to throb in sync with the muscles in her neck, a reminder that the burden she bore would only get worse if she didn't keep stress at a minimum. It would help to have someone else to talk to…that is what they said anyway. But there was a reason she was deemed the "Duchess of Deception," and even though telling Owen may help her stress level, it went against everything she had become over the past forty years.

Owen took in her pale color and the way her fingers tensed around the glass every time she squeezed her eyes shut. Something was definitely wrong…and he had a feeling it was personal rather than professional. Though, for a woman like Henrietta Lange, anything personal did delve in to the professional. For she was the job…personal thoughts and feelings had all been pushed to the side years ago.

"And you've told no one?"

Silence.

He sighed, knowing the woman could and would keep a secret until the day she died. He was about to try a different approach when she suddenly spoke.

"There are many decisions that will need to be made…soon."

He kept silent, staring in to her eyes as she looked up at him.

"And I'm not sure I'm the right person to make them any longer."

He groaned silently, knowing this was not the first time she had thought of resigning or retiring. "Henrietta…you know this business better than most. The team needs you…they tell me, on a _daily basis,_ how no one can do your job."

Grinning slightly, he added, "And they are _sure_ to remind me I am insignificant... since you can talk yourself out of a quandary with Sec Nav better than I can."

He was hoping to, at leas,t get a smile out of her, but instead, her lips turned downward in a frown.

"There aren't many ways you get out of this business, Owen. You either make a mistake and get canned; lose your life on the job; or make the choice to leave it all behind…retire to some unknown island where no one from any of these organizations will find you ever again."

Owen shook his head. "And you're thinking of the latter?"

"I'd rather that than the other options…though I'm afraid being fired is almost upon me."

His head shot up quickly, his body leaning forward as his eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She kept quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping back in to her glass.

"Henrietta…"

"The mole."

He grunted. "No one blames you for that. Carl Brown has been incarcerated. And all the information we have on his accomplice…confidante…whatever…shows that it is no one in NCIS."

"But they're coming after _our_ people, Owen," Hetty said softly, cautiously looking up at him. "And I vetted Brown. I brought him in and didn't catch him before he could leak information on _our_ people to someone else."

"But we're getting close to catching that person. You know that," he said firmly, remembering the hours they'd poured over documents, personnel files and interrogation notes to find any clue as to who was working with Carl Brown.

"No we're not," she stated, shaking her head. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, her free hand coming to press in to her temple.

Owen, seeing this change, reached out to take her tumbler, setting it on the end table. As he turned back, he noticed her other hand had come up to press on her other temple, her eyes still closed.

"Henrietta…you're letting this cloud your judgment. We're going to get this mole…whoever he or she is. And God help them when we do," he said quietly. "But that is no reason for you to believe you are about to be fired…or that you need to retire."

He hadn't known her to ever get so upset about an unsolved case…at least, not in the presence of another agent or colleague. She hadn't moved except for the small circles her fingers were making around her temples. The lines across her forehead had deepened, her head dropping further in to her chest as each second ticked on.

"Hey…" he prodded, tentatively reaching over to touch her arm, "…it's going to be ok."

"Please, Owen…later," she replied.

Surprised, he sat back up but kept his hand on her arm. Something wasn't right…he could feel it.

"You good?" he asked.

Her one nod did not convince him.

"Ok…I'll let you get some sleep. But we _will_ talk about this in the morning."

Quietly, he stood and let go of her arm, noticing that she did not move nor acknowledge his subtle order. He turned off the lamp on the end table, leaving the room lit by only a small light on the far dresser. Still…no response.

As his concern grew, he stopped at the door, not sure if he should leave her alone for the night. He looked back and saw the small woman, still with her eyes closed tight and fingers pressing in to her temples. Making a quick decision, he moved forward a few steps and picked up her small overnight bag from the window seat. Keeping one eye on her, he quickly and quietly exited the room, allowing a sigh of relief to escape when he shut the door behind him.

Now…to find some answers before she realized what he'd done. For if he failed this mission, she'd have his head on the chopping block in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

And a teaser chapter for you! Soon, I promise, much more will be revealed!

* * *

Exhausted…achy…weak…nauseous…

Hetty slowly opened her eyes, desperately wishing she would fall right back to sleep. The light in the room was dim but that did not help the ever present headache she'd become accustomed to waking up with over the past four months. Only when she slept did the throbbing end.

But now she was awake again; now she would have to mask the pain so no one else would know…so no one else could see she wasn't herself…the strong, independent, unbreakable Henrietta Lange. Because, to be honest, she was anything but Henrietta Lange these days.

Pushing all selfish thoughts aside, she attempted to move, pushing down on the mattress with both her hands to sit up against the headboard. Instantly, she knew something was wrong.

Left side again, she thought angrily.

It took quite a bit of maneuvering with her right arm and leg but she finally got herself settled against the headboard, no thanks to her lifeless left side. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes, trying once again to focus on finding some positive in all of this.

But instead, her eyes fell on to one Owen Granger.

"Afternoon, Henrietta."


	7. Chapter 7

Apologies for the length of time between updates! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 _6 hours earlier_

The shrill ring of the cell phone stole his eyes away from the current article on his laptop. He picked up the phone, surprised to see that it was already 8:05 AM. Last time he'd looked it was 4:18…how had so much time passed?

The ring tone sounded again, flashing Callen's name across the caller ID. Groaning, he squared his shoulders, ready for an interrogation as to Henrietta Lange's whereabouts.

However, he was completely surprised to find that was not the reason for this particular phone call.

"Granger…Nell called. There was a hit on facial rec. One of the shooters getting in to the vehicle after the attack on the Carrells has ties to a terrorist organization running out of Iran. Sam and I are headed in to go over the intel with Eric and Nell now."

Granger nodded. "Good. Any more leads on the van leaving the scene after the attack?"

"Nell said they can only track the van for a few miles and then lose it completely…no camera footage anywhere."

"What way was the van headed?"

"East."

"Have she or Eric contact all the local precincts headed north and east of Los Angeles. Give them the van's description and my cell. If any troopers are out and see that van on the roads, I want to know about it."

"Got it."

"They've sent out this guy's picture to all the airports? Made sure he doesn't get out of the country?"

"Nell said it was already taken care of."

"Good. I can be there in…" he looked down at his watch… "about an hour. You and Sam work up what you can and then I'll take Nell with me to follow anything that comes of this lead."

Callen's eyes creased in confusion. "You? But Granger…"

"Don't you and Sam have a birthday party to be at this afternoon?"

Callen looked over at Sam, silently questioning what his thoughts were. Sam glanced away from the road for a second and shrugged. "Michelle will kill me if I'm not there. And Kam will never forgive you."

"Yea…but…Granger, it's the weekend. I'm sure you have other plans."

"And so do you and Sam," Granger answered dryly, rubbing his forehead. The lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him and the last thing he needed was a back and forth with Agent Callen about who was better to go after this lead.

"Thank you, Granger!" Sam called, smirking at Callen, from the driver's seat.

"Look….why don't we see how valid this lead is before you come in? I'll give you a heads up…if there's nothing that can't wait a few hours, Sam and I can go…after the party," Callen added, noting the glare his partner threw his way.

Granger sighed. "If that's what you want."

"Right…I'll call Hetty," Callen said. "She'll want an update."

Granger paused a moment, looking back towards the laptop. Of course she would want to know…but right now…

"Granger?" Callen asked, hearing no response other than a deep sigh. He knew Granger had more information about Hetty, and this was the perfect opportunity to get it out of the older man.

"Easier said than done, Agent Callen. I seem to remember telling you yesterday she wouldn't be back in until Monday….when we had our discussion in my office."

Callen heard the warning in Granger's tone while Sam looked over and mouthed, "Don't go there, G."

Leaning back in the passenger seat, Callen's lips drew in to a thin, straight line. He was angry…angry that they had this big of a case, and suddenly, Hetty was off the grid. But more so, he was angry that Granger knew something and was keeping him in the dark about it.

"Just because she's not back in the office until Monday doesn't mean she won't want an update on the case over the weekend," Callen replied, his tone harsh. "She always has before."

"Agent Callen, update me once you review the new intel. When and if Henrietta checks in, I will let her know of recent developments," Granger replied solemnly. "Otherwise, I am still the Assistant Director, Henrietta's boss and _your_ boss….so all plans need to come through me, not her. Are we understood, Agent Callen?"

Callen gripped the edge of the seat, glaring out the window.

"Yea…I understand."

"Good. Keep me informed," Granger replied, hanging up the phone quickly. Shaking his head in exasperation, he turned back to the laptop, trying to find where he'd left off.

* * *

The Challenger came to a halt at a red light, ten minutes out from the mission. Sam glanced over at a stone-faced Callen, and knew he needed to intervene….fast.

"G…"

"Yea…" Callen replied, his face still turned to look out the widow, rather than at his partner.

"Care to fill me in?"

"On what? You heard what Granger said. We review the intel, update him, and follow up on any leads after the party. End of story," he answered shortly, turning to now face Sam.

Sam raised an eyebrow, shaking his head slightly and turning his eyes back to the road.

"What?" Callen questioned, attempting to feign ignorance. But his partner knew him too well.

"That's not what I'm talkin about G…and you know it," Sam answered, pulling out as the light turned green. "First, you yell at Hetty for no reason…"

"I did not…"

"Then, you disappear until late last night...not answering your calls, not responding to texts…"

"I told you I was out," Callen answered defiantly.

Sam chuckled, his head still shaking. "G…you really think I'm gonna believe you weren't out looking for Hetty?"

"I wasn't!"

"Then why did you have Nell try to ping Hetty's phone?"

Callen turned to face his partner, his eyes narrowing. Sam glanced over, seeing the anger crossing Callen's face.

"Don't blame Nell…I asked and she doesn't have a poker face."

Callen sighed and looked back towards the road.

"I suppose you think I'm wrong," he said lowly.

"I don't know what to think, G!" Sam answered, taking the exit off the freeway. "You've been acting strange since yesterday afternoon. Is it because of the case?"

Callen didn't answer, merely shrugged.

"Ok….then did Hetty do or say something that set you off? Because listen G…you are my brother and I will be by your side no matter what…but yesterday, I gotta say…"

"I know….I know," Callen answered, looking down with a frown. "I guess when I heard Amanda was being placed in the system, it just brought back all the bad memories from when I was a kid. I didn't want that for her…especially not after what she saw happen to her parents."

"None of us wanted that for her…especially not Hetty. But you didn't even give her a chance to explain the entire plan before you laid in to her!" Sam answered, hoping that his partner was thinking clearly enough to finally listen to reason. "I mean… _we were_ the ones who called and asked her to work on the protective custody. It's not like she went and did this behind your back…"

"I get it, Sam," Callen answered, his tone rising slightly. He was frustrated with himself…frustrated that he hadn't shut his mouth and allowed his emotions to get in the way. Of course this wasn't Hetty's fault! Sam was absolutely right. The team was too busy with interviewing witnesses, gathering evidence and securing Amanda that they did not have time to set up her protective detail. And so he, the lead agent, had called his boss for help. And Hetty had readily agreed to come up with the best plan to make Amanda safe.

And it was a good plan…no….a _great_ plan. But looking out the window as they pulled in to the mission, he felt only sadness and regret. He wished he hadn't acted out as he did…especially not in front of the entire office. It wasn't Hetty he was angry with…no, he was angry at the people who killed Amanda Carrell's parents. He was angry at the Comescu's who killed his mother...leaving him alone as an orphan in a foreign country. He was still somewhat angry at his father...for leaving he and his sister without the only parent they had left...for never coming back for him. And he was angry at the social service workers he had gone through as a kid…making him move from home to home every few weeks, only to be told he was worthless and that no one could put up with him

But out of all of those people…none of them were named Henrietta Lange. And yet she was the one he had belittled…without merit. It was time to not only be the team's leader and help solve this important mission, but also, to make amends with the one woman who cared more for him than he did for himself.

Climbing out of the car, he leaned on the roof and took a deep breath. "Hey Sam."

"Yea?"

Sam turned and faced his suddenly quiet, introspective partner.

"Thanks for setting me straight."

Sam cracked a smile. "That's what partners are for, G. Now…let's go. You've got an appointment in the dunk tank. T minus 5 hours, G!"


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for the kind reviews! Now back to the present...

* * *

 _Present: Mid-Afternoon, Saturday_

She hadn't said a word…hadn't even offered one of her signature glares his way. At least if she made a snide remark, he would feel as though she was acting more like herself. But having seen her struggle to sit up, he worried she was far from the norm.

After a few moments of silence, he stood up and moved to the the dresser where a fresh glass of water and five pill bottles stood. Taking a deep breath, he gathered everything before turning back to face her. She hadn't moved….wouldn't even look in his direction.

"Feeling any better?" he asked quietly.

He came around to her side of the bed, setting the water glass on the end table.

Hetty glanced over and nodded, only then noticing that Owen was holding a number of prescription bottles. Her eyes widened as she tried to reach for her glasses on the end table. She fumbled, her reach too short, and her right side buckled under the full of her weight.

"Here…here…" Owen put the bottles down on the bed and quickly picked up her glasses. Gently, he settled them over her ears before helping her sit upright against the headboard.

He could tell she was embarrassed…she didn't dare look up at him, merely whispered a small thank you. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the bed to face her…to finally get things out in the open.

Clearing his throat, he began with something they both used as a distraction during an uncomfortable situation: work.

"I've spoken with the team. There is a new lead from facial rec that Callen and Sam are following up on this evening. Nell and Eric are still trying to track down where the van came from initially and we have all precincts northeast of the city on alert in case they see a vehicle with the same description."

Hetty nodded slightly but remained silent, her eyes focused on her hands clasped in her lap.

"Deeks called in…said things were going slowly with Amanda but that she seemed to be forming a bond with Kensi quickly. Hopefully, Kensi will get her to open up and give any details on the men that killed the Carrells. Still gathering evidence from the crime scene so forensics hasn't told us whether or not they have DNA hits from anyone other than the Carrells."

Again, she nodded silently.

"I told Callen I would update you when he told me he wanted to call you. I thought it best that I gave the update…since you were still asleep," he said cautiously.

She looked up to meet his tense gaze. "What time is it?" she asked.

Owen looked down at his watch. "Almost 3….pm."

The shock was evident, the lines across Hetty's forehead deepening as she tried to remember just what had happened the night before.

"I'd say you needed the rest, Henrietta. Seems like it was well overdue."

Her shock turned to anger as her eyes fell on the pills bottles now lying across the end of the bed.

"Where did you find them?" she asked, her voice gaining a bit of strength.

"Find what?"

"The pill bottles. Where did you find them?" she repeated, pointing towards them with her right hand.

He sighed and looked down. "In your overnight bag."

"Excuse me?!"

"Henrietta, just let me explain…" he began, holding up a hand.

"Explain what? How you went through my personal belongings without my permission?!" she shouted.

"Yes! Yes, I did! Because I knew that was the only way to find any clue about what the hell you're hiding!" he yelled back, standing to stare her down.

Her lips pressed in to a thin line as she met his stone cold face with her own icy glare.

"How dare you," she breathed lowly.

He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing two of the pill bottles and throwing them in her lap. "What are they for, Henrietta? Tell me what you've been hiding!"

"None of your damn business."

"We'll see how Director Vance feels about that," he said with a smirk, knowing he would pay for the snide remark.

He'd half expected her to pull a gun from under the covers and shoot him. Or for her to wage a war of words with him. But he never expected to see the color drain from her face, nor her body shrink back against the headboard. Her right hand gripped the mattress for support as she took a few deep breaths to calm her welling emotions.

"You wouldn't…" she whispered, her eyes closing to keep the tears at bay.

He thought a moment…knowing he could play this out one of two ways.

If something truly was wrong, shouldn't he tell Vance? Surely she would not be up to performing her job duties and would need to step aside…at least until whatever was wrong could be taken care of. But that would mean letting the team in on whatever this secret was…and damaging her highly regarded reputation for being indestructible.

Or he could keep this to himself? And at what cost? To keep this from the team would be near impossible…they were all interconnected in so many ways. Surely others…especially Callen…would notice if Hetty was not acting herself. And if that happened, would he be able to keep her secret? Or rather… _should_ he? From what he had been reading online, the pills she had been prescribed were definitely not for something as common as high blood pressure. No…it was something else…something that the team should know about.

"I'll tell you everything, Owen," she said tiredly, finally lifting her eyes up to catch his gaze. "But…no one…and I mean no one….must ever find out."

Slowly, he sat back on the bed beside her, now eye to eye with the one woman whom he respected more than any other but who could also anger him to no end. Though, seeing her as she was now, looking absolutely defeated, he knew what choice he had to make.

"All right," he answered with a nod, "I'm listening."


	9. Chapter 9

*Thank you all for the recent reviews! I hope that this next chapter answers some of your questions :)

*And now...on with the story!*

* * *

"My phone is ringing."

"Doesn't matter, G. Get up there!" Sam said, pushing his partner forward.

"What if it's Nell?" he asked, putting both hands on the railing of the dunk tank to stop Sam from throwing him in water.

"Come on, Uncle Callen! We're waiting!"

Callen looked across the yard to see Kamran waving at the front of a line of pre-teens, all anxiously waiting the first victim to sit in the dunk tank.

"G…"

"But the phone…"

"If it's Nell, she'll call Granger if she can't get us. Now get in!" Sam urged, pushing him partner up the three stairs.

Callen sighed heavily as he sat on the small board inside the dunk tank. He could hear the cheers coming from the kids across the yard, and half-heartedly waved. His toes touched the top of the water, and he quickly pulled them up, looking out the back of the tank at a laughing Sam.

"This water is freezing!"

"Makes it even worse when the temperature is 92 degrees out, doesn't it?"

"Tell me why I'm in here again?" Callen asked, cringing as the first ball was thrown at the target. Luckily, it missed!

"Because the board doesn't hold my weight. See, if you weight train like I tell you, you would have more muscle. And muscle weighs more than fat. And then you would weigh too much to sit on the board and we'd have to put Deeks in there," Sam explained, chuckling as the next two pitches hit close to the target, making Callen grasp the board tight.

"This….is not funny," he said through gritted teeth.

"On the contrary, brother…it is highly entertaining," Sam replied, moving from behind the tank to cheer on the line of kids ready to put Uncle Callen in the water.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Assistant Director. I couldn't get Callen or Sam on the line. They're probably busy with the party."

"It's fine, Nell. What's the latest?" Granger asked, looking up to find Hetty watching how he reacted to Nell's update.

It didn't take long, less than five minutes, for Granger to get off the phone with the technical analyst. With a heavy sigh, he hung up the call and threw the phone down on the bed beside him.

"Well?" Hetty asked.

"Van was found this morning along the Nevada border. Two bodies inside…torched. Medical examiner is doubtful that we'll get any evidence unless something comes up on dental matches."

Hetty frowned. "And what about the man facial rec got a hit on? Do they believe he was still in the van?"

"Unsure. From what we could see on footage from after the murders were committed, four people fled in the van from the scene. If two of those were torched with the van at the border, that means there are two still at large. One may or may not be the man we got a lead on."

"And no further intel on where the van was bought or rented from?"

"Nell said she and Eric were working with the police department to get the plate numbers and registration. They'll track it back to see what they can find."

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "Not much to go on."

Looking up, he saw Hetty staring at him, concern written in the lines across her forehead.

"What?"

"You haven't slept, have you?" she asked.

"What does that matter?"

"Because it sounds as though we've hit a dead end. And that means it will take a great deal of long days and nights to put away the Carrells killers. It would help to have fresh sets of eyes to view the intel, rather than ones that are lacking an adequate amount of rest."

"You're trying to buy yourself time, Henrietta," he said. "Not gonna work."

She shrugged. "I am merely concerned for your well-being."

"As I am for yours. Now, how about you tell me what's going on so I can figure out where we stand."

"Where we stand? You think this will change my being Operations Manager and your being Assistant Director?"

"It may."

"It won't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you want Vance to know?"

Silence. She looked down, slowly tapping the fingers of her left hand on the bed. _Finally_ , she thought as the tingling began and she tentatively flexed her hand in and out a few times.

"Henrietta…"

"Because," she began, "he will probably insist on a leave of absence, which is unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of taking care of this without resorting to such extremes."

He nodded. "Ok. Then it must not be that bad."

"It's not."

"Then why wouldn't you tell me before?"

"Because you would tell the team," she countered.

"What would make you think I would tell the team?"

"History," she stated bluntly, looking him straight in the eye.

Unfortunately, she was right. There were times that she had expressly told him to keep certain things between the two of them…and he had promised her he would. Like the time he told her he would not send photos of Jada Khaled to Sam while he and Callen were in Africa. Hetty had been afraid Sam would not come back to America until he 'rescued' Jada…and she was right. But, being the man he was and having many regrets of his own when it came to the fairer sex, Owen could not keep his promise to Hetty. So yes, he had sent the pictures to Sam. And boy did he get a lecture from Hetty about it after.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memory, he replied, "All right. I won't tell the team."

"You've said that before."

"I know. So I guess you're going to have to trust me."

She held his gaze for a moment before looking towards the large window, suddenly unsure of whether or not she could open up to anyone. She never had before…and she was too old and tired to start now.

"Why don't you start with when you started taking all of these pills?" he asked, seeing her shifting uneasily from side to side.

Her eyes fell to the end of the bed again where he was rolling the pill bottles over to read the names. With her right hand, she turned over the two bottles he had thrown in her lap, to try and remember how long it had been.

"Some of them I've been on for years," she said quietly, picking up one of the bottles in her lap. "But this one I just started a few months ago. Apparently it's not working. The doctor did some blood work yesterday and will tell me this week if I stop it altogether or if I have to take some other overly expensive pill with it."

Owen listened carefully, not wanting to miss any details. Hetty had quite a way with words and if you were not careful, she could easily talk you out of a conversation before you even knew you were in it. He knew he'd better listen to each word to make sure she wasn't covering up what the real problem was.

"Years?" he asked. "But…"

She held up her right hand and sighed. "It's a long story Owen…"

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered back, crossing his arms and leaning back against the baseboard. "Start talking."

The tingling had moved in to her wrist and forearm, enough that she could move her left arm on to her lap now. Though it was still weak, she could feel the blood beginning to move through her muscles. Her right hand came to rest on her left forearm, her fingers massaging the weak muscles to aid the blood flow in moving through the arm as she began to explain what she could to Owen.

"It's nothing major, Owen. It's something I was probably born with. The doctors aren't sure. They noticed it when I was younger…when my parents were concerned because I was not growing at the same rate as my classmates."

She expected him to laugh, but still he sat straight faced, listening intently.

"It was too risky to try and remove the tumor in those days. The doctor felt if the only side effect was my stunted growth, as he called it, then there was nothing more for my parents to do except to find a good tailor."

Owen sat up. "A tumor?"

"Around my pituitary gland," she said with a wave of her hand. "It is benign…so it's not going to kill me if that is what you were hoping for."

"Henrietta, you know that is not…"

"I know," she interrupted with a small smile.

He was quiet a moment, mulling over what she'd said, before he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I'm sure I'm not the first to admit your height has never affected your abilities."

"Thank you, Owen," she replied genuinely.

"But…that was not the only symptom…your small stature…was it?" he asked quietly.

"For awhile…but no, it was and is not the only symptom," she explained.

"What changed, Henrietta? Your headache last night…" he trailed off as she looked away, not knowing whether he should push her to speak or if he should allow the conversation to play out when she was ready.

Her eyes were still focused on the tree outside the window when she spoke a few tense moments later.

"The tumor has grown…which is common apparently. And while it is still considered benign, it is pressing on some nerves in the brain…making certain symptoms more severe than before."

He sat back against the headboard again. "And that's why they put you on these medications?"

"To try and shrink the tumor," she answered with a nod.

"Aren't there other options?" he asked, knowing full well there had to be. She had mentioned surgery was not common when she was young…but surely it was common now!

"There are."

"Such as?"

She looked back over at him, her eyes creasing with frustration. "Owen…I've told you what the problem is. I've told you that I'm on medication to take care of the problem. And I believe that is all you need to know."

"What about radiation or surgery?"

She huffed. "Owen, I do not…"

"Have you even thought about it?" he questioned, sitting up straight when he noticed her shoulders tense. He knew she was shutting down. "You haven't even considered anything else, have you?"

"What I have and have not considered is not your concern, Owen," she replied tersely.

"It most certainly is my concern!" he countered. "If you cannot fulfill your duties at NCIS, then I need to make sure that I find a suitable replacement….and with a team that is clearly wrapped around _your_ little finger only, that will not be easy."

She blinked away the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyelids. "I told you…fulfilling my duties will not be a problem, Assistant Director."

"And I'm supposed to take your word on that? Hell, you'd be on your death bed and say you could run the team!"

"Your compassion astounds me," she quipped, slowly moving to the edge of the bed. Her left leg had finally come to life, though it was still a great deal weaker than the right. But, it would work well enough to get her in to the bathroom and away from the man sitting in front of her.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. This was not coming out the way he wanted it to…nor was he meaning any of what he said. He was extremely worried about her…more so than he cared to admit to even himself. His fear always had a knack for coming out as anger towards others…Henrietta Lange was often on the receiving end of that wrath. And though she could give as well as she could take, he knew this was not the time to be threatening her.

She made sure the sash was tightly secured around her robe before attempting to stand. She struggled slightly but was able to grab the end table for support when her left leg threatened to give way.

Immediately, Owen stood and supported her by the left arm. She looked up at him, confused at his sudden change in demeanor.

"As I said, Assistant Director, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If it is all right with you, I will simply wash up and then find a way to get my car so you have nothing more to worry about."

She tried to pull her arm away but he held fast, his strong grip easily keeping her weak arm in his hand.

"Henrietta…I'm sorry," he said softly, his lips dropping in to a frown. "I didn't mean…well…"

Her eyes softened as she saw him struggling for words.

"It's all right, Owen," she replied with a small sigh. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. Come down when you're finished. I'll get us some food…and then we'll decide what to do."

"I've taken up too much of your time and hospitality already," she claimed.

He gently squeezed her arm and helped her walk to the bathroom door. "No…you haven't."

Holding fast to the door frame for support, she looked back as he quietly left the room. She always thought of herself as someone who had an uncanny ability to read people…especially when they were trying to hold in their true feelings. But as Owen cast a dim smile her way before shutting the bedroom door, Henrietta Lange had to admit she had absolutely no clue what was going on the man's mind. And _that_ is what scared her more than anything…even more than this bloody tumor.


	10. Chapter 10

_*I didn't forget about this story! Just having a rather hard time with the next installment, so here is a little pseudo-chapter to get us through until I can finish up the next! Thank you SO MUCH for all your reviews!*_

* * *

"Sam!"

Sam looked over to find his partner disconnecting from a call and gathering his keys and wallet.

"We gotta go," Callen said, jogging in to the kitchen. "Now."

Sam saw the urgency in his partner's eyes and nodded. He put the now dry plate in the cabinet and kissed Michelle on the cheek.

"Sorry babe. Give Kam a kiss for me."

"I understand," Michelle answered, turning to grin at Callen. "Keep him safe."

"Always. Thanks for everything, Michelle," Callen answered, waving goodbye as he and Sam hurried out of the house.

"Where we headed?" Sam asked, sticking the keys in the Challenger's ignition and backing out of the driveway.

"Ops. Eric and Nell got another hit on facial rec. They're searching for any evidence of credit card activity in the area now."

"Any links to the other guy?"

"Not sure but definite ties to Iranian terrorism in the past. And there's something else…"

"What?" Sam asked, glancing over briefly before speeding through a stop sign.

"Deeks called in. Said that Amanda told Kens she didn't understand why they didn't kill her too. She wishes they would have killed her with her parents so she wouldn't have to live without them."

"So the killers knew she was in the house when they killed her parents?"

"She saw the whole thing Sam," Callen explained, "and they didn't touch her."

Sam shook his head. "It's personal."

"Very personal," Callen replied, turning to face Sam. "We have to find out what these guys have against the Admiral."

"And why they thought leaving his daughter behind would make the suffering worse than killing her too," Sam answered, eyeing his partner.

Both men turned their eyes back to the road, deep in the thought, as the Challenger sped towards the mission.


	11. Chapter 11

"Yeah…thanks, Nell," Granger said, gripping the edge of the counter. "I'll be there."

Owen put the phone in his back pocket and sighed. This was the last thing he needed…but the case had to come first…and it would always come first.

"Owen?"

His head snapped up, finding Hetty standing behind him, dressed comfortably in black pants, a white shirt and teal cardigan. Her head was cocked slightly to the side as she looked him over, seeing he was obviously preoccupied with something.

"I assume that was Nell or Eric?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "A few new leads came in. Sam and Callen are on their way in. Nell and I will be back up if needed."

"You and Nell?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He moved to the far counter, grabbing his wallet and keys, before moving over to stand in front of her again.

"You want me to take Beale instead?" he asked sarcastically.

She held up a hand and chuckled. "No…no."

"Then with Deeks and Blye covering Amanda Carrell…it's me and Nell," he replied, crossing his arms and silently inviting her to argue with him.

She nodded and after a moment, took a small step forward. "Be careful."

Stunned that she hadn't offered any type of argument, his arms uncrossed. "Yeah…always."

"Good," she said, turning to walk back in to the living room.

He followed, still wondering what she was up to. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase while he paused at the front door.

"I'll keep you updated," he said.

"Thank you," she replied simply before turning and climbing the stairs.

Confused, he shook his head and closed the front door behind him. As he climbed in to his car, he wondered just what she was up to…


	12. Chapter 12

"Hetty!"

"Good evening, Mr. Deeks."

Deeks quickly put his gun in his belt, stepping back. "Uh…hi. We didn't know you were coming."

Kensi ran up besides Deeks, having heard the conversation from her poised position in the hallway.

"Hetty, hey! Come on in. Is everything ok?"

Kensi gave Deeks a slight shove to move him out of the way, allowing Hetty entrance in to the safe house.

"There have been some new developments, of which you are both aware, I'm sure. So, I thought I would come and see how Miss Carrell is faring."

Hetty made her way in to the living room while Deeks and Kensi gave each other questioning looks, not sure what to expect from this visit as they followed their Operations Manager..

Hetty took a seat in the small armchair, folding her hands in her lap as Deeks and Kensi cautiously sat on the couch.

"Well? How is she?" Hetty asked.

"Oh!" Kensi replied. "Well, she's in her room now. She hasn't said anything more than what she told us earlier today…about the shooting anyway. It's hard enough to get her to eat, let alone talk about her parents."

Hetty nodded silently.

"She's a great kid," Deeks continued, "but I think it's going to take some time for her to open up. Her teacher at school told us she has always been on the shy side anyway."

"You've spoken with her teacher?" Hetty asked.

"Yes," Kensi replied, looking back to Deeks, nodding her head to tell him he should explain why.

"Yeah…we wanted to keep things as normal as possible for Amanda. But, when we took her to school this morning, it just wasn't going to happen. She was shaking…crying…so I went in and spoke to the principal. He agreed that with everything that happened, Amanda should stay home for as long as she needs."

"Aha," Hetty replied softly.

"But we did get her work so I'm going to help her with that during the day…hopefully to keep her on some kind of schedule. And her teacher did say that she loves art class, so I had Deeks stock up on art supplies this afternoon. We put everything in the room for her, but she hasn't touched any of it," Kensi said with a sigh.

Deeks put his arm around Kensi's shoulders, rubbing across her back gently. "Hey…she's gonna be ok. It'll just take her some time."

Kensi looked over and smiled at Deeks, nodding. "Yeah…I know."

Deeks winked at her before looking back over at Hetty. "The principal suggested that she see one of the guidance counselors when she gets back to school. I told him we'd look in to it, but I figured you were already going to have Nate talk to her."

"I'm afraid Nate is out of the country," Hetty said. "But, I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I'm not sure she'll trust anyone easily, Hetty," Kensi said, shaking her head. "And I'm not sure we can count on her giving us information about the shooting in time to catch these guys."

Hetty thought a moment, then nodded. Pushing herself to stand, she pointed down the hall.

"Which room is Amanda's?"

Kensi and Deeks quickly stood.

"Uh...it's the last room on the right. You…you want to see her? I mean, you're great Hetty…and you can get tons of people to talk. I just don't know if this is the best time…" Deeks began, running a hand over his hair, only to be interrupted by Hetty raising her hand to stop him.

"Not to worry, Mr. Deeks. I merely would like to introduce myself to the girl and ask her if she will help me with a project for one of my homes."

Deeks looked at Kensi, dumbfounded, before turning back to Hetty. "I'm sorry….what?"

"Last door on the right?" Hetty repeated, beginning to walk down the hall.

Kensi and Deeks quickly followed.

"Hetty…wait…wait!" Kensi said, coming to stand in front of the small woman. "What kind of project are you talking about?"

"An art project, Miss Blye. Now, would you kindly let me go see Miss Carrell?" Hetty asked.

"But you didn't know she was good at art until we told you," Kensi said, crossing her arms and looking down at Hetty suspiciously.

Over Hetty's head, she caught Deeks eye, but he could only offer a shrug in response. Just what was Hetty up to?

"You confirmed it for me, very true, Miss Blye," Hetty answered. "Now…may I?"

Kensi looked at Deeks once more and then sighed. She uncrossed her arms and stepped out of Hetty's way.

"Sure. I guess we'll uh…we'll be in the living room if you need us," Kensi said.

"Thank you. Might I suggest you check in with Eric. He will probably have an update for you," Hetty said with a small smile.

She walked down to the last door on the right and knocked softly. Hearing no response, she opened the door and walked in, motioning for Kensi and Deeks to go back to the living room before shutting it behind her.

"What's going on?" Deeks whispered. "This is weird!"

"I know," Kensi replied, grabbing him by the arm and moving towards the living room. "Let's check in with Eric. Maybe he has some idea about what she's up to."

* * *

Hetty smiled at the young girl who was curled up, holding fast to a stuffed dog, staring up at the ceiling.

"Good evening, Miss Carrell. Or might I call you Amanda?"

Amanda sat straight up, her eyes wide with fear, as she shimmied her way in to the corner of the bed.

Hetty took one step forward, holding both hands out, palms facing upward.

"My apologies. Your foster parents let me in. My name is Henrietta Lange…but most people call me, Hetty."

Amanda still didn't respond, only clinging to the stuffed dog tighter.

"I work with Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye. And I know they want to keep you safe. That is what I want as well. I just thought that I would come to check and make sure the three of you had everything you needed."

The grip on the dog lessened some, but Amanda remained in the corner. Hearing the small woman say Kensi and Deeks' real names, rather than using the fake 'foster parents' names, was a little reassuring. Or should she be worried about that? Should she worry that they had been found out…and that this lady was going to turn them all in to the people who killed her parents? The young girl shuddered involuntarily, causing Hetty's smile to drop in to a frown.

Her voice lowered a bit as she took another small step forward. "Amanda…if I may call you that…I promise I am not going to hurt you. Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye are two of the best agents I have. And I know they will do anything they can to protect you."

The shaking stopped from Amanda as Hetty took another step forward, reaching the edge of the bed.

"And so will I. Do you believe that?"

Amanda looked the small lady over. She _seemed_ harmless, but her father had taught her to always be vigilant…to not trust what people look like on the outside. How was she supposed to trust this lady…or anyone for that matter…without her father's help and guidance?

Amanda looked away, not wanting to give an answer. Hetty clasped her hands behind her back, looking around the room. When her eyes caught sight of the desk, she knew she had found what she needed.

She took hold of the sketch pad and a few pencils before moving back to the edge of the bed.

"I did have one other reason for coming here tonight, Amanda. You see…I have a project that needs completed at one of my homes. And I hear you are going to be away from school for the time being. I thought it might be nice to get away from here for a little while to help me with this project."

Amanda looked back over at Hetty, her eyes quickly falling on the sketch pad. Hetty was silent, allowing the young girl to take in everything. She didn't want to push her...wanted to give her enough time to process everything.

"It is an art project," Hetty said after a few moments, laying the sketch pad down on the bed beside Amanda's feet. "I brought a few pictures of the room I am redecorating. I thought you and I could go over some ideas of what color schemes and types of art could go on the walls."

Setting the pencils on top of the sketch pad, Hetty stood straight and clasped her hands in front of her…waiting.

Amanda finally allowed the stuffed dog to come away from her face enough that Hetty could get a true glimpse of the young girl. There were dark circles under her eyes, her lips were chapped, her cheeks and nose were a deep red. The poor thing looked as though she'd been crying for hours…and probably hadn't eaten or slept much.

"How…how do you know I like art?" Amanda asked softly.

"Well, your teacher told Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye today that art is your favorite subject in school…and you excel at it."

Amanda nodded, averting her eyes so she was looking at the top of the stuffed dog's head.

"And I've also seen some of your work. Very impressive."

Amanda's eyes shot up, her mouth hanging open slightly. "You…you have?"

Hetty smiled. "Yes, I have. I especially like your abstract work, and I think something like that would be best suited for one of the larger walls in my study. For the smaller walls, I was thinking either a few sketches side by side…or paintings…but we can decide that later. That is….if you're interested?"

Amanda stared at Hetty for a long moment. There was something about the small woman's eyes that made Amanda feel safe again…something that told her it was ok to trust.

She nodded slowly, setting the stuffed dog to the side. Hetty reached in to her jacket pocket and produced a few pictures, spreading them out on the bedspread in front of Amanda.

"Here is the room currently. Why don't you take a look, and I will check in with Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye. I'm sure you're hungry and since I haven't eaten either, perhaps we can discuss your ideas and the room over…say…pizza?"

Amanda picked up one of the pictures and then looked up at Hetty, her nod a bit more enthusiastic this time.

Hetty moved to the door, opening it and calling down the hall, "Mr. Deeks! Miss Blye! Would you come here a moment?"

Footsteps could be heard hurrying down the hall, along with an "Ouch!" from Deeks as they both skidded to a stop in the doorway.

"Hey there," Kensi said, righting Deeks who had almost fallen in to her. "What's up?"

Hetty smiled at Amanda before turning back to the partners. "Miss Carrell and I will be going over some pictures and working on some sketches and ideas this evening. We thought we'd discuss it over a pizza….care to join us?"

Kensi looked quickly to Deeks, shocked, before her eyes fell on Amanda. The young girl smiled softly and nodded.

"Please?" Amanda asked.

"Of course!" Kensi exclaimed, relieved that Amanda finally wanted to eat something. "You know what, why don't Deeks and I go out and pick everything up? We can get drinks and snacks to go along with the pizza? We'll make a night of it!"

"Yea…and how 'bout some ice cream, kiddo? Sound good?" Deeks asked, winking at Amanda.

Amanda nodded, her smile widening. "Yes, please."

"You got it," Deeks said. "Hetty…are you sure…?"

"Go on, Mr. Deeks! Miss Carrell and I have a lot of work to do, don't we?" she asked, turning back to Amanda.

"Yes, we do," Amanda said quietly, smiling up at Hetty as she picked up the sketch pad and a pencil. Hetty stepped forward, handing Kensi a few bills out of her pocket.

"I believe that should cover everything," Hetty said quietly.

"Hetty, you don't have to..."

Hetty held up both her hands. "My treat. Now, off you go!"

Deeks grinned, putting an arm around Kensi's shoulders. "Ok, we'll be back with food! Amanda, don't let her work you too hard. She may be small but sure knows how to crack the whip!"

Amanda's eyes widened slightly as Kensi elbowed Deeks in the ribs.

"Sorry, Hetty. I'll get him out of your way. You ladies have fun and we'll be back soon! Call us if anything comes up, ok?"

Amanda nodded to Kensi, though her eyes were still fixated on the back of Hetty's head. Hetty turned around, chuckling under her breath as she heard Kensi chastising Deeks all the way down the hall. When she looked up, she saw Amanda staring at her with a curious gaze.

"Yes, Miss Carrell?"

"You're…you're their boss?" she asked.

Hetty sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. When Amanda did not flinch or move back, Hetty relaxed a bit and leaned against the base board.

"I'm afraid I am."

"So…you are an agent too?"

Hetty cocked her head to the side. "Well…not really. I used to be."

"But you're not anymore?"

"Let's just say I am not out and about like Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye are anymore."

Amanda thought a moment before asking, "So, what do you do?"

"Well," Hetty began, "I make sure that the people under my care are protected and that they have everything they need to do their jobs to the best of their abilities."

"And Kensi and Deeks are under your care?"

Hetty nodded. "They most certainly are."

"And what about the people _they_ take care of?" Amanda asked softly, her eyes averting down to the sketch pad. "Do you protect those people too?"

She heard a small rustle beside her and when she looked up, Hetty was sitting right in front of her. No longer did a smile grace the older woman's face. Amanda looked down quickly, not knowing if she had asked something she wasn't supposed to or upset Hetty in some way.

But when Hetty's hand covered hers, Amanda looked up again slowly. Hetty squeezed her hand gently, before reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Amanda's ear.

"It is my job to protect everyone that comes under my team's care. And that also means you, Amanda," Hetty replied. "You are safe here…and whatever you need, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get it."

Amanda stared at Hetty, her eyes welling with tears.

"All right?" Hetty asked, reaching down to hand Amanda the pencil she had dropped.

Reaching out, Amanda gripped the pencil tight. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, sniffed back her tears, then opened her eyes and smiled for Hetty.

"All right."

Hetty sat up a bit straighter, her own grin returning. "Good. Now…what do you think about a light orange palette?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you EVERYONE for the reviews! I hope that I can live up to your expectations...I always want to make sure I give the characters due credit because they are not mine! They are property of Shane Brennan, R. Scott Gemmill, and the fabulous writers of NCIS: Los Angeles!_

* * *

 _Early Sunday Morning_

Pulling in to the driveway, Owen was quick to note that his SUV was no longer parked where it had been when he left the night before. In fact, as he opened the garage door, it wasn't in there either. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he quickly got out of his car, gun in hand, and rushed to the front door.

"Henrietta!" he called, slamming the door shut behind him.

No answer. He searched the entire downstairs, finding no evidence that she was there. He cautiously made his way up the steps, afraid of what he might find. The door to his bedroom was open and after doing a quick sweep, he found nothing out of order. He hurried across to the guest bedroom, only to find the bed made precisely and all of Hetty's things gone.

He ran a hand over his head and sighed, sitting down heavily on the end of the bed. Where had she gone now?

* * *

Nell and Eric were just shutting down their computers when the shrill ring of the desk phone startled them both. Nell looked down at the caller ID, then up at Eric, swallowing down a large lump in her throat.

"Does that say what I think it says?"

Eric's eyes widened in looking at the ID. "Yep."

Nell took a deep breath and answered the phone tentatively. "Good morning, Hetty. We didn't know…"

"Miss Jones, a sitrep if you please."

"Uh, well, Callen, Sam and Assistant Director Granger were able to corner two of the men we believe were involved in the killing of Admiral and Mrs. Carrell. They found them hiding out in an abandoned warehouse about two hours north of Los Angeles."

"Have these gentlemen also been involved with Iranian terror organizations?"

"Eric and I did find that they have been linked to the same terror group as our first suspect, Amir Esfahani. Also, forensics came back from the scene where the van was torched. One of the bodies was confirmed to be Esfahani. The other must have been an associate and was probably also at the Carrells when they were killed."

"Uhuh. And the two men that were apprehended last night?"

"Callen and Sam are questioning them now in the boat shed.. Assistant Director Granger had to take care of something but will come back this afternoon to take over the questioning as needed."

"I see. And we are sure there were _five_ men seen running from the scene of the crime?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So there is one man still at large?"

"Yes. No leads yet on his whereabouts."

"Fine. Thank you, Nell."

"You're welcome. Um, Eric and I are still here…we would've updated you before but the Assistant Director said you were gone until tomorrow and not to bother you."

There was a brief silence before Hetty answered.

"Not to worry, Miss Jones. I have all I need now."

Nell nodded. "Right, yes ma'am."

"You and Mr. Beale go enjoy some well-deserved rest."

"Ok…but if there is anything…"

"Thank you, Miss Jones."

The other end went dead as Nell held out the phone, looking at it for a few seconds before putting it back in its holder. She turned to Eric, deep in thought.

"What did she say?" Eric asked quickly.

"Nothing really. She just wanted an update…but I _know_ Granger told us she was out of town and that he would update her himself."

"Maybe he doesn't know she's back," Eric said, standing and grabbing his backpack.

Nell followed suit, pushing in her chair. "Yea…maybe."


	14. Chapter 14

_Here it is! The long awaited conversation between Hetty and Callen after Callen's tirade at the beginning of the story! I hope I have done this justice...I tried to keep the character's true to themselves...please let me know how I've done :)_

* * *

Callen walked in to the mission that afternoon, exhausted and sore after a long night of searching for, capturing and questioning the two men associated with the murder of Admiral and Mrs. Carrell. He'd sent Sam home, telling him he had a few things to finish up before he would also head home for some much needed sleep.

While it wasn't the end of the operation, the questioning had proved fruitful. The men had been hired by a US citizen. They and the two men killed in the van had all been selected from a group that had been trained in Iran. Their employer had paid for everything: their housing, their weapons, their salaries. But they wouldn't give up the name…merely suggested that it was an American citizen with something against the Admiral. And they had been hired to kill he and his wife…but were given strict instructions not to kill the daughter.

Callen shook his head, trying to piece all of the information together. Why would they be ordered to keep the daughter alive? It would make more sense to punish the Admiral by killing his wife and daughter, rather than punishing the daughter by killing her parents….wouldn't it?

He was about to gather some forms from his desk, wanting to get the arraignment process for these two men underway, when he saw a small light coming from Hetty's office. Surprised, he pivoted and walked towards her desk, only to find her deeply engaged in a variety of files covering her desk.

"Hetty?"

Hetty looked up, frowning. "Mr. Callen…what are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. He came to stand in front of her desk, eerily aware that this was the same spot he'd stood in two days before. And that conversation had not ended well. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for her response.

Sitting back in her chair, Hetty motioned towards the files on her desk. "Catching up on some work. And you? I thought you were done questioning the suspects."

"We are," he began tentatively, "but I want to get them arraigned so they have no chance of contacting their employer."

She nodded. "A fine idea. Where is Agent Hanna?"

"I told him I could finish this so he could go home…we had to leave early from Kamran's birthday party, so I figured he could use a few extra hours with her," he replied with a shrug.

"Indeed," Hetty said, leaning forward once more to study the paper in front of her.

He wasn't sure what to do. She made no further comment nor indication that she had any questions. Just kept going over the paper with a highlighter, making a small note on the side with a pencil.

After a few moments, she looked up at him. "Something else you need, Mr. Callen?"

He knew that he should just come out and apologize for Friday afternoon. He's been wrong and he'd taken his frustration out on her…the one person who had always been there for him.

"Look…Hetty…I'm sorry about the other day," he said. "I know you were doing what was best for Amanda…and your plan has been a great one. Thank you for coming up with it."

She nodded. "That _is_ my job, Mr. Callen."

"And…some of the things I said…I didn't mean them. I was just frustrated…I didn't want another kid to get lost in the system like I did."

And there it was…the real reason he was upset. It's what she'd been waiting for. He'd never truly spoken it to her; only hinted at it in the past. And now she could see that his anger wasn't about Amanda Carrell; rather, it was about his own childhood and how he'd been left with no family for so many years.

Hetty set down her pencil and gripped the arms of her chair. "I understand, Mr. Callen. You had every right to be protective of her…considering your own background."

"Yea…" he said, sitting down in the chair across from her with a sigh. "But I didn't let you explain…and I was wrong."

Hetty's lips pressed together as she thought carefully about how to respond. "Apology accepted," she said quietly.

Callen's lips turned upward slightly before he bowed his head. "You know, I've been trying to talk to you all weekend…to tell you that…but you've been off the grid."

He meant it to be an ice breaker between them…to get them back in good standing. But when he looked back over at her, he didn't see the response he'd been hoping for.

It was with a frown that she agreed. "Yes, I have been."

"Something you wanna tell me about?" he asked, sitting forward in his chair, concerned.

"No…it's nothing to bother you with," she replied, looking back up at him and offering a small smile. "Simply business, Mr. Callen, that is all."

"Should I be worried?," he asked.

She chuckled. "Thank you, Mr. Callen, but I assure you I can take care of myself."

"You sure?" he asked, not quite believing her.

"I am. Now, why don't you let me get back to my work, and I will let you get those suspects arraigned."

He paused a few seconds, taking in her reserved body language, and knew she wasn't ready to give up what she was working on. He'd just have to keep a closer eye on her.

"Right. Well…you know where I am if you need something."

Standing, he turned to walk out of her office but was stopped at the steps. "Mr. Callen…"

"Yea?" he asked, turning back to face her.

"Thank you….for your concern," she said, taking in a deep breath, "and for working so diligently to help Miss Carrell."

His eyes creased, knowing she was holding something back. "Sure."

She looked away, her eyes focused on her hands in her lap. "I do not have many regrets, Mr. Callen. I find that they are of no help and only hold a person back as time goes on."

Callen took a few steps towards her. "Hetty…"

"But there is one thing I regret more than any. And you need to know that had I been able…I _would_ have taken you in…to my home…as soon as I found you in that orphanage."

"You don't have to explain…" he said, hating himself even more for opening his mouth Friday afternoon. He never meant for her to blame herself-he understood that she needed to keep him safe and that keeping in foster care was the only way she could save him from the Comescu's.

"But I do," she replied lowly, meeting his gaze once more. "I did all I could to keep you in the same home…but, as you said, there are a great many adults who abuse the foster system for its money alone. And whenever I found out you were being hurt, I tried to find another family…one that would not hurt you."

She took a moment to control her emotions before continuing. "If I had been able to keep you safe and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would not be harmed…I would have taken you in immediately."

"Hetty…" he sighed, placing his hands on his hips and looking down. "I know you did what you thought was best. And your job with the CIA didn't allow you time at home. There would have been no way for you to take in a kid then…well, at least, a kid like me."

"Mr. Callen….I'm afraid the CIA and my job expectations are not to blame for why I didn't pull you out of the foster system," she answered, her eyes welling with unwanted tears. "I simply could not keep you safe in my home until you were older…until I had more of the resources I needed to hide both of us. And I couldn't bear the thought of taking you in and the Comescu's finding you."

Callen sank in to the chair once more, realization suddenly beginning to dawn on him. "Did they know about you? Know that you were my mother's handler?"

Hetty kept her eyes averted, picking up her pencil and lightly tapping it on the desk for a small distraction.

"Did…did they find you?" he asked.

"In time…yes…they did," she answered quietly.

He sat back, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her body language signaled she was resigned, tired and ready to tell him what had happened. But her face was devoid of all emotion. He wasn't sure if he should press her for details now…but he needed to know. He needed the truth…all of it…no matter how she thought he might react.

"When?"

The pencil stopped tapping as she let it fall to the desk, both her hands now clasping together in her lap. She looked over to him and shrugged.

"Many times…it took quite awhile to develop an alias but once I did, they were unable to find me again. And that's when I found you…in juvenile detention," she replied.

He flinched at the mention of juvy…the one time in his life he wished he could completely forget. But sitting back, studying the small woman in front of him, he still didn't understand how she could have fooled the Comescu's. They had resources everywhere…and simply getting rid of one name and taking on another would not stop them from finding a person. In fact, they'd probably expected Hetty to do that very thing and would be on the hunt for her to pull such a trick.

"I don't…I don't understand," he said, leaning forward and looking her straight in the eye. "How?"

She held up a tired hand, shaking her head. "It is a long story, Mr. Callen."

"Hetty…."

But she continued shaking her head. "Not today. We will discuss it soon…just not today."

Normally, he wouldn't accept that. They had always finished a conversation in full before. Especially when it was about something so important to him.

But he could see that she was exhausted…the lines across her forehead deepening with an unspoken worry and her hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard her fingers were turning white. Relenting, he stood and nodded.

"Ok. But soon?" he half asked, half ordered.

She nodded, offering a small smile for him. "Soon."

Again, he turned to leave. But before he knew it, he was turning back. "Hetty…"

"Yes, Mr. Callen?"

"Thank you."

Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the man standing before her suddenly as vulnerable as when she'd first brought him home at 15. He was fighting back tears, showing emotions he rarely let anyone see. She held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Goodnight, Mr. Callen."

Without another word, he turned and quickly moved to the bullpen. Grabbing his bag and the paperwork he needed, he strode out of the mission, his mind whirling with thoughts and questions. As he disappeared from view down the hallway, Hetty let out a deep breath, her fingers pressing in to her temples. She'd opened a Pandora's box of memories…one she swore to herself she'd never discuss with anyone.

But now she'd made a promise…and no matter what the cost to her, she would live up to that promise. It was for the man she considered her own son, after all…and that was all that mattered.


	15. Chapter 15

_I am overwhelmed by your reviews of the last chapter! Thank you all so much for your thoughts- and not to worry! The rest of the conversation between Hetty and Callen WILL happen soon! But until then...here is the next installment!_

* * *

It was after eight in the evening when the small Operations Manager made her way out of the mission. Her head was throbbing, her equilibrium was off kilter and her stomach seemed to be doing flip flops. She should have gone sooner, she knew, but she had wanted to finish piecing together a few things.

She took her time getting to the parking garage, her steps slow enough to make sure there was time to catch herself in case the dizziness became overwhelming. As she rounded the corner, she could see someone standing against the SUV she'd driven in that morning. Instinctively, her hand moved to her pocket, her fingers wrapping around the grip of her pistol.

"Well played, Henrietta."

She stopped for a moment, her fingers releasing the grip, as the figure of Owen Granger stepped away from the SUV and crossed his arms.

With a sigh, she continued forward until she was a few steps in front of him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, unlocking the SUV and throwing her case in the back.

"This is _my_ SUV," he stated bluntly, "and you waited until I was out of the house to take it. Probably to work on some other God-forsaken op that no one knows about."

She slammed the door shut, looking up to glare at him.

"It is not your SUV. It is the property of NCIS," she reminded him.

"Doesn't negate the fact that you took it without my knowing. Nor that you left without telling me where you were headed or what you were up to," he countered.

"You're my handler now, are you?" she asked sarcastically, moving towards the front of the vehicle.

She had just grasped the door's handle when Owen moved in between she and the door, knocking her hand out of the way.

"Henrietta, we are not through here," he growled lowly.

"We most certainly are," she spat back. "Now get out of the way before I take your _real_ car and make sure it has had its final drive."

He was used to her threats, used to the way he tried to intimidate him with her "Gorgon" stare, but this time, he was not going to allow it.

"I need to know what you've been up to," he said with a sigh, his arms uncrossing and hands coming to rest on his hips. He looked down, away from her glare. "Hetty…if this has something to do with the case, you need to read me in."

"It doesn't. Now, either get out of the way or hand me the keys to your other car. It will save me from having to hot wire it."

She held out her hand, waiting patiently for his response. Instead of giving her the keys, he grunted, stepping aside and opening the SUV's door for her.

"Thank you, Owen. I'm glad we had this little chat," she replied, lowering her hand. She moved forward and stepped up on the running board, wearily sliding in to the driver's seat. Looking over, she saw he was standing in the way of her closing the door.

"Good night, Owen." She tried to reach around him for the door handle, but he moved over just enough that her hand missed its target. "Owen…."

"You can take the SUV, Henrietta. But you're not going to get away from this. Either I come with you or I follow you to the house. Your choice."

She leaned back in the driver's seat, her body exhausted from the emotional 24 hours she'd had. Dealing with an angered Assistant Director was the last thing she wanted to handle tonight. She wasn't one to give in…but if this would get her home to her bed and a bottle of scotch, she'd appease him…for now.

"Get in," she said with a huff, pointing towards the passenger seat. "Hurry up."

He nodded once, slamming the driver's door shut and hurrying around to the passenger side. He was surprised she hadn't locked him out, saying so as he got in the vehicle.

"Owen, I _am_ a woman of my word."

He didn't respond, merely waited until she looked over at him.

"I know."

She huffed in response, his arrogant attitude starting to grate on her nerves. Muttering under her breath, she put the SUV in drive and headed out of the parking garage. If one thing was for sure, she was going to make quick work of whatever conversation he wanted to have. For her bed was calling her name…and tonight, she would climb in willing…the sooner, the better.


	16. Chapter 16

_*Now to add a little mystery to the plot!*_

* * *

 _8 Hours Later_

He felt how tight the muscles were beneath his hand and quickly realized she was dealing with physical pain, not just emotional stress. Inching closer, he took both of her small shoulders in his hands, his face now merely inches from hers.

"Talk to me…" he whispered. "Please…"

But she couldn't. She could barely comprehend what he was saying, let alone verbalize what she was thinking or feeling. All she could focus on now was keeping her dignity and not allowing her guard down.

Owen caught the grimace crossing her features as she tried to open her eyes. Reaching over, he quickly turned off the lamp on her nightstand.

"Easy now…come on, lie down," he said softly, gently pushing her shoulders back against the pillows.

"No…no…" she whispered, but her stamina was too compromised to fight against him.

Every small movement hurt, no matter how slowly she turned to try and lie down. Suddenly, she felt a strong hand on the small of her back. Her eyes blinked open in surprise as she saw Owen leaning over her.

"Let me help…" he said calmly, easily moving her down the mattress and settling a pillow under her head.

Instantly, her forehead felt like it had exploded….the pain moving from her neck in to her eyes. She quickly pressed her fingers in to her temples, her eyes once more closing in agony.

Owen was worried...he'd didn't know how long she'd been like this..nor had he even seen her in such a state. He mentally counted backwards- it was past 4:00 AM now and he'd told her goodnight at midnight. She had acted normally then…but when he'd woken at 3:30 and saw a light coming from under her door, he'd known something was wrong. So what had happened in those three and a half hours, he wondered, that could incapacitate her in such a way?

"Henrietta…have you taken anything?"

"No…no," she murmured.

Owen quietly pulled the comforter over her, now at a loss. Moving to the other side of the bed, he turned off the last lamp, hoping the darkness would help. As his eyes adjusted to the now moonlit room, he frowned seeing the small woman curl in to a fetal position.

He quietly moved over to the bed, sitting down as gently as he could and reaching over to place his hand on her arm.

"Henrietta?"

When she didn't respond, he made a quick decision, one he knew he might get chewed out for in a few hours.

"It's just me…" he whispered, as he pulled his legs up on the bed and lay down next to her.

Turning on his side, he inched closer to her, concerned as he heard her breaths coming out short and quick.

"Shh…Hetty…it's just me," he said softly, gently pulling her in to his chest. He felt how tense her body was as he wrapped her in a strong embrace. Slowly, he began rubbing circles on her back, taking in every detail. For as his fingers moved over her small frame, he realized how easily he felt her ribs…and how truly thin she had become. Layers of clothing had masked the weight loss and made him wonder if headaches and weakness were the only two symptoms she had been experiencing lately.

He quickly looked down, feeling her shudder beneath him. Her hands were still on both sides of her face, her fingers pressing deeply in to her temples.

He slowly moved one hand from her back to her shoulders, gently beginning to massage the tense muscles. It seemed to take forever, but finally, her hands dropped from her face to rest on his forearm. He allowed his fingers to travel to her neck, re-positioning himself so he could better reach the small muscles at the base of her skull.

A small groan emerged from against his chest as his fingers worked their way up and down her neck.

"Sh…it's all right…" he whispered.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as he applied a bit more pressure to her neck.

 _Perhaps this is the crux of the problem_ , he thought.

"Henrietta, is this where it hurts the most?" he asked.

Still, he gained no response from her…not even a stronger squeeze on his arm. Sighing in defeat, he continued massaging her neck and up the back of her head. Every so often, a sharp intake of breath from Hetty would cause him to stop, to decrease the pressure or to change where his fingers were. But he still could not get her to communicate with him. If she would fall asleep, he would feel better. At least then he would know she was silent because the pain had decreased to a bearable level and she was able to rest.

But this….this wasn't getting any better.

 _5:23 AM_

When he looked down from glancing at the clock, he found her staring in to his chest. One small hand was clasped around his wrist and the other was gripping the lapel of his nightshirt.

"Henrietta…can I get you anything?"

When no response came, he began rubbing her neck again, until he heard…

"No…thank you Owen."

His fingers stalled, and he sat up a few inches, positioned in such a way that he could catch her eye.

"You're sure? Tea…pain medicine…anything?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice a whisper.

Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and glistening with tears. She moved her head to the side to shake it "No" but winced, the movement being too much.

"Ok…ok…we'll stay like this until you're ready for something," Owen said, gathering her close to his chest once more and beginning to massage the back of her head again.

His eyes closed in sadness as a few, quiet whimpers passed through her lips, and his normally hardened emotional walls quickly began to crumble.

 _6:02 AM_

The shrill ring of a cell phone shocked both of them. Granger tried but was unable to reach it from his current position. He gently laid Hetty on his pillow and hurried over to her nightstand, declining the call. Wiping a hand over his face, he looked down and silently groaned seeing who the caller had been. He knew it wouldn't be long before his own phone went off.

Looking over, he found she was shaking beneath the comforter.

"Henrietta…" he breathed, hurrying back over to the other side of the bed. He leaned down so that he could look in her eyes. "Henrietta….Nell is calling…probably updating you on the mission. My phone will ring next. And if you don't want me to tell her how much pain you've been in, you need to tell me what to do."

Hetty stared back at him blankly. It wasn't until he put a gentle hand on her shoulder that she seemed to understand.

"Dr. Ambrose…call him…" she whispered.

"Dr. Ambrose?" he repeated. "Ok…Dr. Ambrose…"

He moved to her phone once more and pulled up her contacts. Sure enough, a Dr. Ambrose was listed.

A groggy voice answered on the third ring, sounding extremely irritated.

"Dr. Ambrose? Yes, this is Assistant Director Owen Granger of NCIS. I'm afraid I need your help sir….and I need it immediately."


	17. Chapter 17

_8:44 AM_

"Assistant Director?"

Owen turned quickly, seeing Dr. Ambrose heading towards him from the bottom of the stairs. He set his coffee cup down and met the physician in the middle of the kitchen.

"How is she?"

"Resting…finally," the tired physician answered, setting his bag on the center island.

"Good…that's good," Owen replied, moving back to the counter. He poured a fresh cup of coffee and offered it to the doctor who gladly accepted.

"I am glad you called…I don't think anything else, well other than a trip to the hospital, could have helped in this situation. And I'm sure we both know how much Henrietta hates the hospital," the doctor stated, taking a sip from his cup.

Owen nodded, remaining quiet.

"I must admit that Henrietta keeps quite a lot from me and tries to do everything on her own. So, I'm hoping you can tell me what happened last evening."

Owen sighed, picking up his coffee and taking a long sip before looking up at the doctor.

"I wish I knew. We got here around nine last night…had a drink…talked until about 11:30…but she didn't say anything about being in pain."

"Was she acting normal?" the doctor asked, pulling a pad of paper from his bag and scribbling down some notes.

"Completely," Owen replied with a smirk. "Told me she didn't need someone following her around, that she was fine on her own. We discussed a case we're working on and went over some plans to put in place today. When I went to leave, she told me I was being ridiculous and to stay the night since it was already late. Said she didn't need me getting in to a car accident because it would mean she would have to find someone else to take over my duties and she hated that kind of paperwork."

The doctor shook his head, laughing lightly. "Well, that does sound like Henrietta. And she showed no signs of feeling ill?"

Owen shook his head, "Nope."

"Uhuh…and what time did you find her this morning?"

"A little before 4," Owen answered, finishing up his cup of coffee and heading for a refill.

The doctor wrote down a few more notes and sighed. "I wish I could give you an explanation, Assistant Director. But, I'm afraid that nothing is quite panning out these days with Henrietta's condition."

Owen turned around quickly, setting his coffee cup down and staring the doctor straight in the eye.

"What do you mean?"

"Her medications are no longer working as they should. And since she is adamant about not having surgery, I need to look at other options. We set an appointment for later this week, to give me some time to review her test results and determine what might be best. But now…taking in to account this episode…I'll have some more revising to do, I believe."

Owen looked down, trying to hide his emotions.…though he wasn't quite sure what they were himself.

"Right…what should we do until then?"

"Continue with what she is currently taking…the extra prescription I gave you today will not interact negatively with her other medications. Just watch for side effects after she takes the Carbergoline…if they continue to get worse, don't allow her to take it any more until I see her on Friday."

Owen nodded, though not completely understanding what side effects the doctor was speaking of.

"Well, I think I've given you enough to chew on," Dr. Ambrose said, downing the last of his coffee and opening his bag.

"Now, I don't believe she'll wake up for another few hours. I'd suggest you get some rest yourself."

Owen set down his coffee cup with a frown. "What should I expect when she does wake up?"

"She'll be quite groggy from the injection of Morphine I gave her…and may still be in pain. If so, I am leaving a prescription here for her to take. Do not give her an option. She will need to take two, but she'll try to trick you in to only one. She always does and it never turns out well."

"Sounds like Hetty," Owen muttered, taking the pill bottle from the doctor and scanning the label.

"I expect she may not remember much about last evening, but if she seem worse off than that, notify me immediately. Otherwise, I'll stop in to see her tomorrow, if that's all right?"

Owen nodded, setting the pill bottle down and offering his hand to the doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Ambrose."

"Not at all," the doctor replied, shaking Owen's hand and picking up his bag.

As Owen walked him out of the kitchen towards the front door, the doctor remarked how lucky Hetty was to have Owen in the house when all this happened.

"I must say, as her physician for many years, I've always worried that Henrietta takes on too much by herself. I never thought she would listen to my opinion about her not living alone any longer," he began, "so finding that she does have someone to help is a great relief. She can be quite a handful, even in such a small package."

Surprised, Owen stopped before opening the front door, turning to face the doctor. "You don't think she should live alone anymore?

The smile on the doctor's face diminished considerably. "No…did she not tell you that?"

"No, she didn't," Owen answered, crossing his arms across his chest. "When did you discuss this?"

The doctor's head lowered and he breathed out a deep sigh. "I apologize, Assistant Director. I'm afraid I assumed she had told you since you were here with her last evening. I thought she'd changed her mind after our last conversation."

"When she insisted she didn't need anyone's help, right?" Owen questioned.

The doctor nodded.

"But you think differently?"

The doctor cleared his throat and forced himself to look up at Owen. "I'm afraid, Assistant Director, I have said too much already. Had I known that Henrietta had not discussed this with you, I would not have said anything. And because of doctor-patient confidentiality, I can say no more."

Owen held the doctor's gaze for a moment before he unwillingly opened the front door. "I understand."

Dr. Ambrose took a few steps forward until he was just over the threshold. He turned and held out a hand to Owen once more.

"Assistant Director…perhaps you could speak with Henrietta. If she signs a waiver, I can discuss her case with you in depth."

Owen shook the man's hand. "I think we both know that is easier said than done, Dr. Ambrose."

"True," the doctor said, dropping Owen's hand and shrugging. "But might I make a suggestion?"

Owen motioned for the doctor to continue.

"She trusts you. No one would know she was ill unless she allowed it…and if I wasn't a man of faith, I would question even God himself knowing without her telling him first."

Owen chuckled, knowing the doctor was spot on. The doctor's own laughter died down as he eyed Owen seriously.

"But, Assistant Director, she has already trusted you with her secret…and I believe she will listen to you. It would behoove you to help her see that doing this alone will only hurt those she loves in the end."

And with that, Dr. Ambrose bowed his head slightly, turned, and walked away.

Slowly closing the door, Owen leaned against it and wiped a hand across his weary face. He ran the doctor's parting words through his mind once more. How on Earth was he going to make the most stubborn woman in the world see that she needed help? And just how much help did she need?

It wasn't more than a few minutes until his cell phone buzzed from inside his pocket. Pulling it out, the caller ID showed it was OPS. Cursing silently, the Assistant Director wondered whether or not he could do what the doctor was asking…and whether or not he should tell the rest of the team.


	18. Chapter 18

_Back to the investigation! Many thanks to you all for your reviews...wasn't sure how it would sound as I laid out the details of Hetty's painful episode with Granger! But I appreciate your very kind and helpful comments...thank you!_

* * *

"What have we got, Nell?" Callen asked, striding in to OPS followed closely by Sam.

Nell stood, pointing to the large flat screen. "This."

Callen and Sam turned to view the photographs laid out on the flatscreen, while Nell explained the situation.

"Eric and I were digging deeper in to Admiral Carrell's history…seeing if there was anything that stood out as a failed mission or one that resulted in anyone being harmed or captured."

"And?" Callen prompted.

"He helped lead the investigation into the USS San Francisco's collision in 2005. One person was killed and more than 50 people were injured. After the incident, the commander of the sub was relieved of his duties and more than twenty officers were given letters of reprimand and demoted in rank."

"That was a bad crash," Sam added, "almost lost the San Francisco for good."

Nell nodded as Eric stood to continue. "We looked in to the background of the commander and the sailors who were demoted, thinking they may have had beef with the Admiral for leading the investigation. Nothing turned up about the Commander…he finished out his career stationed on the East Coast. However, there was an interesting turn for one of the sailors...one Benjamin Morse. He was in his early forties and killed himself two years after the incident."

Callen's eyes narrowed. "And why does he seem interesting?"

"His last known address was in Santa Monica where he lived with his wife and one son. The son, Daniel Morse, would have been about ten or eleven when the sailors committed suicide, putting him in his early twenties now," Eric said, looking down at his iPad and then pointing to the screen. "Picture of his recent driver's license confirms his age and that he still lives in Santa Monica. His height and build match that of the fifth man from the crime scene footage."

"But we still don't have any angles of the man's face from the crime scene, do we?" Sam asked.

Nell nodded sadly. "No, we don't. But, it looks as though all the men were around the same age."

"All the guns for hire were in the 20's," Callen added.

Sam nodded. "And they said they were never hired by anyone from overseas…said it all came from people in the US that hate us already. Son could be ticked that his Dad killed himself- possibly due to his demotion after the incident...might want revenge."

Callen stood straight and agreed. "Right…it's not much to go on, but it's a start. Send his last known address and photo to our phones."

"Got it," Eric replied, sitting down at his desk and beginning to type.

"And see if Deeks and Kensi can get any more of a description from Amanda about the men," Callen said to Nell. "Accent, hair color, eye color…anything that could help ID this guy."

"Right. I'll call them."

Nell sat back at her desk as Sam and Callen headed for the door.

"Hey Nell?" Callen called out, stopping suddenly and turning back around. "Are Hetty and Granger briefed?"

Nell and Eric shared a look before turning to face the two senior agents.

"Um, I tried calling both of them this morning but only got to update the Assistant Director. He said he would make Hetty aware."

"Are they coming in?" Callen asked, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"Not right now. Granger had a few things to finish up in a meeting and said to keep him informed," Nell replied.

"And Hetty?"

Again, the technologists shared a look.

"Nell…." Callen prompted.

"We're not sure," Eric answered for her. "Haven't heard from her and she hasn't responded to texts."

"She was here yesterday," Callen countered. "Did she say she wasn't coming in?"

"You saw her yesterday?" Sam asked, surprised Callen hadn't told him.

"Yea…when I was getting the paperwork for the arraignment. She was in her office," Callen replied, looking back to Nell and Eric. "Did you two see her?"

"She called up to get the latest on the investigation, but that was it," Nell answered with a shrug.

Callen nodded, looking back to Sam. "We'll try to call her on the way to this guy's house."

"You think she knows something?" Sam asked, nodding to the techs before he and Callen exited.

"Probably…Hetty always knows something we don't," he replied with a sigh, quickly walking towards the stair case.

 _Ain't that the truth_ , Sam though, shaking his head in exasperation before jogging to catch up with his partner.

* * *

*Author's Note: The collision described above did happen in 2005. The USS San Francisco collided with a seamount, resulting in the loss of one life and injuries to approximately 90 crew members. While this did result in the commander being relieved of his duties and twenty sailors being demoted/reprimanded, the names and events described above are fictional. To learn more about this, please go to the following link:

wiki/USS_San_Francisco_(SSN-711)#Collision_with_seamount


	19. Chapter 19

"That looks really good, Amanda!"

Kensi gently picked up the drawing lying on the table and smiled. She knew the girl had spent all morning working on it and was hoping that the artwork was helping to lift Amanda's spirits.

"Thanks," Amanda said quietly. She wouldn't meet Kensi's eyes, simply continued working on her math.

"I'm sure Hetty will love this," Kensi said, putting the drawing back on the table. "What are you working on now?"

"My homework," Amanda answered, her head still lowered.

"Ok, great. Since you've been working all morning, maybe we could take a break this afternoon and go out for a bit? Would you like to go down to the beach? Or we could just go for a walk…maybe down to the park?"

The young girl shrugged, keeping silent.

Kensi sighed softly. "Well…why don't you think about it while I work on something for lunch?"

Amanda nodded.

"Ok…I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Amanda nodded again as Kensi turned, sadly walking towards the kitchen. She wanted to help Amanda…but the poor girl would hardly speak five words, let alone tell her what she had seen when her parents were murdered! How they would ever get the young girl to identify a suspect was beyond Kensi…maybe they would need a therapist to help her through this.

Kensi decided to call Nate later that afternoon when she heard something behind her. Turning, she saw Amanda had stood from her place at the dining room table.

"Kensi?"

"Yes?"

Hopeful, she took a few steps back towards the dining room. Amanda was holding her drawing, looking from it to Kensi.

"Is Miss Hetty coming over today?"

Kensi stopped mid-stride. _That was unexpected_ , she thought.

"Um, I don't think so. We're going over tomorrow to see the room at Hetty's house, remember?. But, I don't think she is coming over today."

Amanda's lips began to twitch and her eyes cast down. "Oh."

Kensi's heart broke. She quickly stepped forward, placing her hand softly on Amanda's arm.

"You know what? Why don't I call and ask Hetty to stop by after work today? I'm sure she would love to see your drawing."

Amanda looked up cautiously. "Do you think she will? Because I wanted to show it to her before we saw the room. That way…if she doesn't like it…I can make a new drawing."

Kensi was shocked, her hand dropping to her side as she absently nodded. "Yes….uh…yes, I'm sure she will love the drawing! But, like you said, if she sees anything she wants changed, I'm sure she will let you know."

"Ok…so you'll call her?" Amanda asked, her voice finally raising to a level beyond that of a whisper.

"Of course, I'll call her right now! Why don't you go put your things away and then maybe you can help with the sandwiches for lunch, ok?"

Amanda nodded enthusiastically, hurrying to pick up her books and carry them back to her room. Still in a state of shock, Kensi turned and walked in to the kitchen, picking up her phone on the way.

 _Who knew Hetty might be the answer to getting Amanda to talk?_

She dialed Hetty's number but there was no answer. She left a quick voice mail, asking Hetty to call her, and then dialed OPS.

"Eric, hey, it's Kensi."

"Hey Kens…how is everything going with Amanda?"

"She's still pretty quiet…but we may have made a small breakthrough. That's actually why I'm calling. Is Hetty there? I tried her cell but she didn't answer."

The line was silent for a few seconds longer than normal.

"Eric? What's going on?"

"Uh…sorry. Hetty isn't here either. We've been trying her all morning and haven't gotten any answers."

Kensi's inner alarms starting going off. "Has anyone talked to her or seen her?"

"We talked to her yesterday…so did Callen. He saw her in her office last night before he left to arraign two of the gunmen."

Feeling a slight sense of relief, Kensi continued, "How about Granger? Is he in?"

"Not yet. He's finishing up a meeting and said he would brief Hetty. He might know where she's at."

"Ok…I'll try him."

"Is there something we can help with?"

"No…no, it's ok. Amanda just wants Hetty to come over to see her drawing."

"She wants to see Hetty?" Eric asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

"Yea…long story. I'll explain later. But if you hear from her or see her, could you have her call me? I think she may be the key to getting Amanda to talk."

"You got it."

"Thanks, Eric."

Hanging up, Kensi slowly put down the phone and leaned against the counter. Crossing her arms, she thought back to Saturday evening, trying to piece together everything Hetty said she and Amanda spoke about…and any hints Hetty may have dropped about what she was thinking or working on.

"Now that right there looks serious," Deeks commented, walking in the back door with two hands full of grocery bags. "You good?"

"Yea," she replied, taking one of the bags from him.

"What's up?" he asked, shutting the door and coming to stand beside her.

"Not sure yet," she answered. "But I'll let you know when I do."

He kissed the side of her head and smiled. "Good. Cause I'm hungry."

She rolled her eyes. "You're always hungry."


	20. Chapter 20

_To be honest, this chapter took quite a long time to write and was re-written many times! I'm interested to know your thoughts- good OR bad! Thank you so much to all who are continuing to read and review!_

* * *

She struggled against the darkness, wanting to remain in it but knowing she shouldn't. Something was wrong…something needed to be done. And she needed to be awake for that to happen.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and took a glance at her surroundings. It was her room…in the Encino house. But _how_ had she gotten here? And _how long_ had she been here…and asleep, apparently?

The only light in the room was the sunlight being blocked by curtains drawn across the windows. As her eyes moved around the space, she became acutely aware of the dull ache growing in her right arm and nausea stirring in her stomach. She leaned to the left, hoping to prop herself up, but that only made the symptoms worse.

A small groan escaped her lips, followed by an inaudible curse, as she fell back against the pillows. She needed to get to the bathroom…now. The nausea was about to rear its head when a strong arm lifted her up, setting a basin in front of her.

"It's all right…"

It was mere seconds before she was dry heaving in to the basin…the contents of her stomach nothing but liquid and medication. Her thoughts swirled…her mind completely devoid of all logic as she tried to collect herself.

Had it not been for the steady hands guiding her back down to the pillows, she was sure she would have passed out. She hadn't felt this bad since she'd been shot in Romania…and to be frank, being shot didn't seem all that bad now.

"Better?"

A thin cloth wiped her mouth off as she felt someone sit on the bed beside her. Her vision came in to focus, and she wearily looked up to thank this 'Good Samaritan,' whomever he or she might be.

"Owen?"

Her voice hitched, her throat still raw from its most recent irritation.

"You ok?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, not understanding how he had gotten here. He reached over and grabbed a glass of water, helping her take a few sips. She pushed the cup away after a few seconds, the cool liquid not helping the still-present nausea any.

"Just rest…don't worry…I'll explain everything," he said, reaching down and gently taking her hand. "You just need to rest, Henrietta."

She looked down at his hand holding hers, then back up at him. Her expression told him all he needed to know. She was confused, upset and perhaps even a little fearful.

Squeezing her hand, he sighed. "Everyone on the team is safe…the mission is moving forward. And no one else knows about this," he said, waving his hand around her bedroom. "Only me…and your doctor."

"Doctor? Doctor Ambrose?" she asked.

He nodded. "I called him this morning. You had quite the night. While I'd like to say it was due to a hangover," he began with a small chuckle, "I'm afraid I'm the one who had too many scotches. You made me stay in your guest room so I wouldn't wreck my car on the way home."

 _That answers why he is here_ , Hetty thought to herself.

"But you called Dr. Ambrose?" she asked again, still not understanding how her physician came in to play.

Owen was silently grateful Hetty did not remember the early hours of the morning…the amount of pain she had been in…his inability to help her.

"As you asked," he answered cautiously. "He gave you a dose of morphine."

Hetty's eyes widened significantly. "Bugger," she breathed.

Owen couldn't help but smile. "He said you might not remember much…but you are to rest and stay in bed today. Apparently it was a high dose and may make you tired and nauseous…as you well know," he said, his smile instantly fading.

He dropped her hand and stood, moving over to the small desk in the corner of her room. She watched closely as he grabbed a pill bottle from the desk, along with a piece of paper and phone.

"He said to call if you're feeling any worse. I have the list of meds you need to take throughout the day…but the doctor said that we should add this if you're still in pain."

He sat back on the bed beside her, showing her the pill bottle.

"Apparently you've taken them before…but he said you have to take two…not just one."

She stared at him, unsure what to say. First, it was extremely troubling that she remembered none of the events he'd just told her about. Second, she knew she must have been in an extremely bad way if she had allowed Owen to call Dr. Ambrose. She would never have allowed her personal physician to meet one of her professional colleagues. But seeing as she _had_ allowed it…what had the doctor told Owen about her condition? Obviously, Owen was holding out her medication list and a new pain pill. Did he know just how bad things had become?

"How is the pain? Think you could stomach these two now or do you want to hold off until the nausea settles down?" he asked.

She was quiet…eerily quiet…and that unnerved him. She looked from his eyes to the pill bottle and then met his gaze again…silently. He could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

"Henrietta…"

"What did he tell you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in to a glare.

"Who?"

"The doctor…what did he tell you?" she asked again, a bit of vigor finding its way back in to her tone.

Owen sighed, placing the pill bottle and med list on the end table. He turned back to her, holding up his phone and pointing at it with his other hand.

"See this? I saved the doctor's number. Did it as soon as he left. Turns out you haven't been telling the whole story, Henrietta. So, he told me to call with any issues…including your refusal to abide by his recommendations."

She kept silent, her eyes cast down.

"I think it's time for the truth, Henrietta. Otherwise, my next call is to Callen…and we'll see how much he can get out of you."

It was low, and he knew it. But you didn't get information out of Henrietta Lange by playing nice…you had to fight fire with fire. And he was prepared with the matches.

"I already told you what was wrong," she answered quietly.

"But not the whole of it," he countered. "So here is my offer."

She continued to look down, not daring to meet his eyes. Her expression would be the complete opposite of gracious right now, though she knew he deserved her thanks for his help last evening. But with the way he seemed to be impeding on her independence, she felt like putting a cork in his mouth and reminding him how many times she'd covered for him…even saved his life in the past.

"I won't tell the team on three conditions," he began, folding his hands in his lap and waiting to see if she looked up at him. When she didn't protest nor look at him, he sighed and continued.

"First, I will be accompanying you to all of your appointments. You will sign the release at the physician's office which allows Dr. Ambrose to discuss your case freely with me...just as he does with you."

He waited a moment, seeing if she would respond.

She didn't.

"Second, seeing as though I will know how things are progressing with your health, I will determine what cases you _need_ to be involved with. All others will be run by the team with myself as the final authority for operative decisions. The team will not know that anything is wrong…merely that your duties as Operations Manager require you to take time away from the office to meet with allies and other intelligence officials...just as you have in the past."

Again, she remained silent.

"And last," he began slowly, knowing this matter was sure to produce a reaction from her, "you and I will need to come up with a plan for transport to and from your houses every day…to keep the team in the dark."

Immediately, he saw the lines across her forehead deepen as she turned to look at him, confusion etched across her features.

"I'll head home to pack this afternoon while you rest. I think it's safe to keep you here one more day, but I know you prefer sleeping in a different house every night. I'm sure you've already developed new code names for the houses after Mattias got hold of your addresses a few years ago. And if you wish to give me those names, fine. I just need some way to know where you'll be so that when I get pulled in on a case, I will know which house to come to every night."

It took her a moment but she finally asked, "What are you talking about?"

He sighed, placing one hand on her right side and the other on her left, leaning down to stare her straight in the eye. "Henrietta…you can't live alone anymore…you know that."

Tension hung thick in the air as they stared at each other; he trying to make her understand his concern…and she…

All the air left her lungs as she frantically started searching for how she could get away from him. She was trapped between his arms, his body leaning down close to hers. She was desperate to get away, panic setting in as memories of the reason she had long been an independent, single woman came flooding back.

"No," she whispered, rolling on her side and pushing one of his arms to try and get out from under him.

"Henrietta…"

"No!"

"Hetty, listen to me!" he yelled, grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her gently. "It's ok…it's going to be ok!"

The panic suddenly stopped as she realized it was Owen Granger, a man she had come to trust and depend on that she was staring at, not someone who was trying to hurt her. She stopped fighting him, her hands dropping from pounding against his chest.

"Owen?"

Surprised at how small and vulnerable her voice sounded, he loosened his grip on her shoulders, allowing her body to relax in to the pillows.

"Hetty, I'm right here. What is it?"

"This is bad, isn't it?" she asked softly, turning her head to look away from him.

His head sank in defeat, as he found he was unable to respond...

...

And with that, Hetty had her answer.


	21. Chapter 21

Thank you so much to all who have reviewed this story!

As you have noticed, I have not updated in a very long time. To be frank, the story was not going in a direction I wanted it to. So, moving forward, I am going to delete this story.

However, parts of The Foster Feud WILL be used in a new story I have been developing over the past few months. The plot line and relationships seem to work better and after having seen all of Season 8 of NCIS: Los Angeles, I feel this is the best direction to go.

Again, many thanks for all of your kind reviews! The new story should be published in the next few weeks.


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